


Truth's Shoes

by comeaftermejackrobinson, MissingMissFisher (bokchoynomad)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Rumours and Gossip, S3 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeaftermejackrobinson/pseuds/comeaftermejackrobinson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokchoynomad/pseuds/MissingMissFisher
Summary: A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.— Charles SpurgeonWhilst grappling with the themes of exposure, truth and trust, Phryne and Jack must navigate various rumours and presumptions whilst they race against the clock to solve the mystery of a dear friend's unexpected and mysterious disappearance.





	1. Trust of the innocent

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, beloved readers, guess who's back? Hope you enjoy this short fic we've cooked up for September's trope challenge since RL ate up our attempts at writing for the last few! Hope you've all been doing well and look forward to hearing what you think about this new idea of ours!

 

 

> _The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool._
> 
> — Stephen King

 

“I’m still in shock, Spencer!”

“Now, now, my dear, the police are here now, they’ll sort it out. Let’s hope our cab arrives soon so we can get you home.”

“Did you see which police officer it was?” another bystander interjected meaningfully when she overheard Spencer’s attempt to calm his traumatised wife.

“I’m not exactly on a name-to-name basis with members of the constabulary,” Spencer turned to their fellow theatre attendee who was huddled on the front steps of the MacKenzie’s Cavalcade of Mysteries.

“Well, neither am I,” the woman sniffed. “But anyone who’s _anyone_ should recognise that that dishy officer who just arrived was the detective inspector who’s been in all the newspapers, and even mentioned on the radio recently!"

“Oh yes,” Mrs Spencer perked up instantly. “He was involved with that scandalous ordeal about the arrest of the police commissioner - Sandys or something or other - who turned out to be his _ex_ -father-in-law! A most shocking business, to say the least!

“Sanders, I believe was his name?” Spencer said, although he wasn’t sure that information was corrected. It didn’t matter, though. It was not something that affected him, or the troubles he had at the moment. And he did not really care whether the inspector was best mates with the King all the way back in England and on a first name basis with His Majesty. He only wanted this resolved as soon as possible. The show, after all, did have to go on.

“What’s more,” the other woman lowered her tone conspiratorially, “has been all the ongoing speculation about _that_ woman that the inspector has been gallivanting about town with!”

“Yes, that aristocratic one!”

“Exactly, the splashy heiress who’s also always in the papers as well, usually with some new man on her arm,” she lowered her voice to a loud whisper, “or in her bed, I’ve heard.”

“No!” Mrs Spencer’s eyes widened just as her husband’s expression grew stern and he opened his mouth. But, his intended response never issued forth because right at that exact moment, the topic of their salacious conversation suddenly pulled up right out in front of the theatre in a whirl of red Hispano and blue beads.

And not a minute too soon, Miss Dorothy Williams, thought as she breathed a quick sigh of relief and glared at the gossipers who didn’t even notice her as all eyes clamped onto the Honourable Phryne Fisher as she gracefully exited her vehicle. As eccentric and bohemian as she was elegant and sophisticated, she had the exotic beauty of a woman destined to always make men’s heads turn and their breath stop the minute she walked into a room. Word around town had it that she entertained several paramours a week, and that her legs spread easily for the gentlemen that suited her varied tastes.

Whether they spotted her painting the town red surrounded by other socialites with the same disdain for traditions that she bore, or chasing a suspect in her high heels and designer clothes, her name was always on the tip of everybody’s tongue. Some praised her, some spoke ill of her, and others did not understand her nature at all. But one thing was true: the daughter of the Baron of Richmond did not enjoy the benefits of anonymity, nor that she thought it had any.

“Oh, Miss, I hope I didn’t spoil your evening,” Dot quickly told her as she approached the motorcar.

“Don’t worry, Dot,” Miss Fisher rolled her eyes in disgust, which puzzled the younger woman, “My plans were already sabotaged by an unexpected house guest, but the less said about him the better.”

Dot immediately wondered about her employer’s cryptic response as she turned to keep up with Miss Fisher’s sashaying jaunt up the red steps and into the theatre.

Unexpected house guest? And one her miss didn’t want to talk about? Dot had wondered why the inspector had arrived separately from Miss Fisher since she knew they were meant to be having dinner together. And not just any dinner, but what her miss had been hoping would be an extremely romantic and magical dinner. Oh, Miss Phryne might not have said as much, but Dot knew her employer and mentor rather well, and had learned to observe and deduct tiny details just as Miss Fisher had trained her to do.

For instance, she knew that the gown Miss Phryne wore this evening had been especially ordered at the House of Fleuri for the occasion. And how Mr Butler had been instructed to order a whole set of brand new candles for the dining room’s centrepiece, and to plan a detailed menu filled with many of the inspector’s particular favourites. Miss Fisher had even gone to the trouble of arranging for Dot and the cabbies to attend Mackenzie’s famous magic show this evening with instructions to not hurry back early at all. Dot knew exactly what all of that meant, and even if she did not feel comfortable with intimate relations outside of wedlock herself, the young maid knew very well that the same could not be said about her miss. And although she tried hard not to form any opinions about the various guests who came to visit Wardlow, Dot was very happy that the invited gentleman caller was meant to have been the inspector this evening. Therefore, the Miss Fisher’s companion grew more baffled as she observed the inspector’s more biting manner towards Miss Phryne at the crime scene. What could have happened to have ruined their hopeful dinner plans? Well, she now knew the “what” actually. Just not the “who” to this little mystery.

So, _who_ was this mysterious gentleman who had such an overwhelming ability to overshadow even the inspector’s bright spotlight in her miss’ plans? In fact, Dot knew, perhaps more than anyone else given her close proximity and sharpened skills that most men had paled considerably in their appeal to her miss in comparison to Jack Robinson. As their working partnership and personal friendship progressed, Miss Fisher had been less interested in the men that sought her company. She went out with them, and danced with them, and they all visited her boudoir afterwards and left the following morning with a smile on their faces and the appearance of not having slept a wink. But, they were all like leaves that rustled past in the wind compared to the rooted presence that Jack Robinson seemed to have grown into amidst the chaotic climate of Phryne Fisher’s usual landscape.

It was hard for Dot to imagine what could have gone wrong and led to the situation they were currently in. The air was so thick and full of tension you could practically cut through it with a buttering knife! It was never like that with Miss Fisher and the inspector. Usually the tension between them was… a different kind of tension. In fact, it was the kind that radiated from between them and threatened to surge throughout the entire room with them at the epicentre, not unlike where they both were now still standing in the wings onstage. Dot glanced up from her note-taking to peek behind the curtain where she had been hiding in her attempts to track one of the show’s members  as Miss Phryne had requested. The detective’s assistant tried to hide a smile as she saw her miss standing scandalously close, as per usual, to Inspector Robinson whilst stroking the lapels of his suit as he remained seemingly immune to her advances (also, as usual). They seemed to be caught up in their own little world when Bert’s sudden shouting shattered their bubble.

But the Inspector had looked different than he often did when Miss Fisher stood in such proximity to him. He’d looked uncomfortable and suspiciously guarded. None of the enjoyment that they usually shared over dead bodies and mystery murders (as gruesome and odd as that sounded, though normal for the couple of detectives) could be perceived that night. The young maid had the impression that, given the chance, Inspector Robinson would choose to be anywhere but there. Dot approached the stage then to ask Miss Phryne who the passenger that Bert had alluded to was when she heard the inspector’s curt reply delivered in such an uncharacteristically caustic tone:

“Run along, Miss Fisher. I wouldn't want you to neglect your social commitments.”

The words, in and of themselves, were like so many exchanged between the two detectives and their habitual banter. Even in their earliest acquaintance, however, when the inspector had tried to discourage Miss Fisher from becoming too involved, first with his cases, and later, with his personal life, Dot could never recall him ever using such a cutting tone with her miss. That in and of itself was telling. And Dorothy Williams felt she could attest to this with some authority after all since she and Miss Phryne had met Jack Robinson on the very same day. But, before she could mull over it much more, Inspector Robinson had turned with a brief nod in her direction before he summoned her fiance and abruptly left the scene of the crime. Dot looked up towards the stage where she caught the combined flickering of pain that was quickly followed by anger as Miss Phryne blinked and resumed her usual poise before she flew down the stage’s staircase.

“Come, Dot,” her miss called out as she continued to march down the aisle with her purposeful stride, “I’ve an unwanted houseguest to dispense with!”

“Yes, Miss,” the younger woman reassured her as she held onto her hat and sped after the lady detective.

 

*-*-*

 

Dot looked up and remembered to continue stirring her cocoa in the saucepan to find Mr Butler returning from his brave mission to deliver suitable sustenance to the frontlines of the Battle off the Fishers taking place in the parlour.

After being introduced to the Baron of Richmond in the cab, Dorothy had wisely followed Miss Phryne’s example, but keeping quiet for the duration of the ride back to Wardlow in spite of her brimming questions to learn more about her employer’s father. Lord Fisher didn’t have any issues with regaling Cec and Bert of his recent voyage and engaging them in his other exploits. Watching him from the corner of her eye, it wasn’t difficult to tell where Miss Fisher had inherited her ample charm and abilities to disarm others and invite them to share their secrets. Thus, perhaps, it also came as no surprise when their employer had rushed her father into the parlour shortly after their return from the magic show where their extremely loud discussion was still taking place from behind the closed doors.

The Baron of Richmond reminded Dot of a magician himself. He had the ability to hold everyone's attention when he spoke, and something about the way in which he chose his words and delivered his speech made you hang on the edge of your seat. But at the same time as you listened to him recount his multiple journeys and adventures, you could not help but wonder what the catch was. Where was the trick? What was he hiding? What was there up his sleeve? Dot knew that her miss didn't come from money, and she had heard enough about her childhood days in Collingwood and what her childhood home had been like to come to the conclusion that her father had not always been the charming, perfect gentleman that had been entertaining the cabbies and pouring them all drinks as if he owned the place (or maybe, this was exactly how Henry Fisher had always been after all and how he had managed to con and then lose any money he was able to make instead of using it to support his family?). Dot saw how this trait and the way her father abused it could anger her miss. The Honourable Phryne Fisher liked magic shows like the next person, and she loved mysteries of course. But, Dot was certain that Miss Fisher preferred to enjoy the former from her front row seat in the theatre, and the latter from the perspective of an investigator. But, never both simultaneously as personified through her father in her own parlour. And the Baron of Richmond seemed like both a mystery and a magic act combined.

Dot made her way to the kitchen where Mr. Butler was. She supposed she may as well made herself busy and useful whilst Miss Fisher dealt with this unexpected visitor.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Mr Butler?” Dot poured out a mug of the hot cocoa and sat down at the table. She still had not changed out of her evening dress since she was hoping that Hugh might still be able to drop by shortly as his shift was due to end. But, she also knew that the recent and tragic murder of the girl at the magic show might well delay her fiance’s plans.

“Not at all, Dorothy, but thank you,” the kindly older gentleman reassured her as he began to tidy up a few odds and ends. “Oh, that reminds me, this arrived for you whilst you were out this evening.”

He reached into the side pocket of his apron that was hanging on a peg by the pantry door to retrieve a white envelope. Turning, he approached the table to present it to Dot. The young woman’s curiosity was immediately ignited as she thanked Mr Butler and held the unexpected missive in her both her hands and stared at her name typed boldly across the front.

 

**MISS DOROTHY WILLIAMS**

 

“Do you know who delivered this?” She asked her friend and colleague.

“Unfortunately, no,” Mr Butler responded. “I noticed it had been placed through the letterbox shortly before you all returned.”

Dot had begun to open the envelope after slicing through it with one of the kitchen knives and slowly scanned it as she sipped from her mug.

“Ouch!” She suddenly cried out as a large portion of the still steaming drink sloshed over the side and splashed the front of her dress. “Oh, excuse me, Mr B, I’ll just go and tidy myself up.”

“Did you burn yourself, Dorothy?” He asked with genuine concern as he immediately turned with a clean washcloth to help her mop up the table.

“Only a little, nothing to worry about. I shall return shortly,” the maid babbled as she stood after placing the mug back down. She quickly folded the letter she was reading up and rushed for the door and the back stairs up to her bedroom. Once she reached her room (oh, it still never failed to overwhelm her with awe and gratitude that she had her very own room now), Dot quickly changed out of her ruined dress and put on one of her more practical ones. She then went to her washbasin and poured water into her to soak the chocolate-stained portion before drying her hands and reaching for her hat and coat. Checking the lovely clock on her nightstand that the cabbies had given to her for her birthday, Dorothy quickly reread the letter as worry marred her young brow before she resolutely tucked it back into her deep pocket. She then crept back down the stairs and listened carefully.

Miss Fisher and her father were still talking, but at least it sounded like their conversation had resumed a more civil level of tone. She then glanced into the dining room through to the kitchen to see that Mr Butler had also momentarily disappeared.

Before she could lose her resolve, Dot slipped out the back door and softly closed it behind her.


	2. The best way to trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack examines his feelings towards the previous evening’s events…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind, wonderful comments on the first chapter. We hope you also enjoy reading this new one.

 

 

> _The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them._
> 
> — Ernest Hemingway

 

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was in a foul mood when he woke up around six o’clock in the morning. He had not slept well the night before and the migraine that often followed one of his insomniac episodes was more persistent than ever.  He had work to do, murders to solve and- unlike those that claimed themselves detectives simply because they had the means to go about town handing out business card written in pretty calligraphy- paperwork to fill in afterwards for each and every case. And it was piling up on his desk, one file up the other in a tall tower that could fall down at any minute.

He could have done it in the last couple of days and be all done with it by now, but oh, no- he had to go out and buy a new suit and a new tie for his dinner with Miss Fisher. He’d gotten his hopes up and played the fool and spent a good portion of his salary as a police officer in new clothes because for a moment he allowed himself to believe he would be having a date with the Honourable Phryne Fisher.  And then there they were, the impeccably pressed suit and the expensive new tie, neatly folded on a chair by his bed, the only tangible, physical evidence of the illusion he had held so close to him until the woman in question had all but ran over it with her beloved Hispano-Suiza.

What a fool, oh, what a fool he’d been! To think it would all go according to plan! He had imagined himself arriving at Wardlow, Mr. Butler getting the door and walking him inside the parlour where she would be waiting, so beautifully dressed up in some scandalously gorgeous attire that must have cost her what he made in a year. He would have found her beautiful even if she’d been waiting for him wearing nothing but an old potato sack. He never failed to find her torturously exquisite. He never did not think she was the most incredible, exotic creature to have ever walked the earth. He would have been in awe of her, like he’d always been from the beginning, no matter what she chose to wear. He’d imagined working up the courage to tell her so, complimenting her natural beauty and the sparkle in her eyes. Oh, those eyes! How he had dreamed of looking into those two pools of blue fire while they drank wine and ate whatever dishes she’d asked Mr. Butler to make for them. And he would have been lying if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, that he’d imagined stepping through the threshold of her boudoir at long last (and not because of some case or other).

But none of that had happened. Someone else had turned up at her door, an _old friend_ he assumed _,_ and just like that the aforementioned door had been shut on Jack’s face before he even got the chance to show up at Wardlow with his now useless new tie and new suit. Of course an old friend would be much more interesting to entertain than a sort of colleague-maybe-more-than-friend like Jack (he wasn’t sure if there was a term to describe their relationship at all). He could imagine what sort of an old friend it may be, of course. He wondered what profession he had. For all Jack knew he could come from the Royal Family or work as a circus  clown! Neither would surprise him at this point. He didn’t care, either. It didn’t matter! He should have known by now that the parade would never end, the revolving door of men would never stop spinning them in and out of the sanctity of her boudoir!  

He could not believe he had even imagined himself dancing with her. He’d gone as far as picturing them both in the dimly-lit parlour, some unknown slow, jazzy rhythm playing softly in the background. With Miss Fisher’s head resting on his shoulder while he encircled her lovely body with his hungry arms. Their breaths would have mingled, and he would have kissed her while they danced. It was so stupid, so childish, to think such fairy-tales were real. What a fool he had been, letting himself daydream about these things that she would share with any bloody man on earth but him! Of course she wouldn’t share them with him, not when he was the only damn bloke in the world that wanted her and nobody else, and who didn’t give a damn about any other woman. Of course she would be interested in open-minded, modern men that slept with one different woman every single day of the damn bloody week. Of course she would rather spend her time with t _hat_ kind of man, ‘opposites attract’ nonsense be damned!

As he cast another glance at the neatly folded new clothes he never got to wear to dine with her, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson wished he had never fallen in love with the Honourable Phryne Fisher. In his current mood, he was feeling sorry that he ever made room for her in his heart.

Oh, who was he kidding? She had asked him to come for dinner again and he had agreed. He was a weak man, he knew, completely vulnerable and lost under the bright, sensual gaze of the woman who had seized his heart They could try for a second time, she said. She would not cancel on him, she promised. She did want to have dinner with him, she assured him. And he believed her, because that was what he did best, apparently: he was an expert in placing his heart in her hands all the while knowing that she could crush it oh so easily, but blindly trusting her to spare him the pain she was aware she could cause him. But like any addict, he had succumbed to her entreaties yet again as his traitorous body had leaned into the slight pressure of her fingers stroking his brand new tie before they caressed his lapels.

 _But, enough of this moroseness, Jack!_ He chided himself. Especially not at this hour. He shook his head in self-disgust as he slipped out of bed, threw on his robe, and marched resolutely to the kitchen of his flat. After putting the kettle on to boil, he slumped into the nearest chair with his tousled head clutched between his hands as he stared down at the invitation he had left on his dining table after he had returned last night. It was for a good friend’s birthday dinner party, and one he had agreed to attend when pressed. Only now, as he stared at the date on the letter before him did he realise he had double-booked himself since the party was actually for tonight. The very same night that Phryne had rescheduled their aborted dinner plans from the previous night. The one that he had caved in and agreed to retry again tonight.

Suddenly, the inspector shot back to his feet, sending his chair toppling over in the process. He had said he’d had enough of this ridiculous pendulum of emotions, so he would stick by his decision. Giving in to a rare moment of open rebellion, Jack Robinson purposefully made his way back to his bedroom to start getting dressed for the day. As he went through his usual ablutions, Jack decided to uphold his original plan to go to his friend’s birthday party after all since he was a man of his word. He also needed to show Miss Fisher that he too could choose other people over her, and that he wouldn’t always be ready to drop everything when she was finally able to make time for him. He wanted to show her that he wouldn’t ask “how high” every time she asked him to “jump”!

Finishing his preparations, the inspector jammed his hat onto his head as he headed out his front door and to the station where he would telephone Miss Fisher and send him his regrets for that evening. Jack muttered the words that he would use to do so as he drove the short distance to City South, only to pull up short as he turned the corner. There, parked in his usual spot was an all too familiar red Hispano Suiza with most of its front wheels hanging over the kerb.

Slamming the door slightly harder than he was wont to do, especially at that time of the morning, Jack cursed under his breath as he marched up the steps. He paused momentarily to draw in a great long breath of fortitude that helped to recall the words he had rehearsed earlier. It would seem that he wouldn’t be sending his regrets to Miss Fisher via the telephone after all.

 

*-*-*

 

The two cabbies watched as Miss Fisher paced back and forth in agitation inside the inspector’s office. She had left the door open in order to keep an eye out for what they all hoped would be his imminent arrival. At his usual post by the front desk, Constable Hugh Collins stood frozen like one of Medusa’s victims in stark contrast to the frantic swarming activity of the two men on the other side of the counter. In fact, Bert and Cec rivalled their employer’s own constant frenzy as they both paced the station’s entryway, bumped into one another, quibbled and then paused. Only to start the vicious cycle all over again. Just when the two red raggers were about to explode again over another useless argument, the station’s front door swung open to reveal the one person they were all anticipating.

“Jack, at last!” Phryne cried out in visible relief just as Bert rounded on him as he took his first step into his own station.

“Oi, and where the bloody hell have you been, _Inspector_?” He spat out in disgust just as Cec pulled his friend back in alarm from what looked like an attempt to grab the surprised inspector.

“Good morning to you to, Albert,” Jack merely doffed his hat with an equally stern glare at the cabbie before he continued to head over towards his office. “Miss Fisher, to what do I owe such an unexpectedly early visit?”

“Good morning, my arse! Easy for you to say after you musta had a helluva good evening last night, eh, Inspector? Whilst the rest of us were up all night combing the streets like... _oof_!”

“Cec, what are you doing?” Miss Fisher demanded after the usually mild-mannered man swung a punch at his best mate. Jack whirled back around just as Hugh snapped out of his trance and rushed around the corner to intervene.

“Yeah, whatcha think you’re doing, mate?” Bert darted a venomous look at his friend as he recovered from the unexpected hit. “Why you covering for _him_?”

“Because we’d agreed last night,” Cec replied cryptically with a worried glance towards Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson. “We said we’d forget about that for now so we can focus…”

“To hell with what we agreed,” Bert interrupted his partner roughly as he tried to pull away from Cec and Hugh’s hold. “We trusted him! So now we need some bloody explanations, that’s what!” He jabbed a finger towards Inspector Robinson just as Hugh grabbed his arm.

“Trust Jack? Of course, we do, Bert, what are you going on about?” Miss Fisher asked him pointedly just as Cec tried to shush the other man again.

“We heard it from our mate who works down at our local. He saw Robinson with his own eyes! Ask him yourself! Why was he out gallivanting and getting all cozy last night with some skirt when we all coulda used his help to help find poor Dottie?”

“Oi, look what you’ve done now,” Cec again glanced worriedly around at the shocked faces gaping back at him as he once again grabbed his friend and began hauling him towards the door. “Let’s get you some fresh air whilst Miss Fisher talks to the inspector. I’m so sorry, Miss, Inspector. We’ll just be right outside when you’re ready for us.”

With that the two rabble rousers disappeared, leaving the others in remaining stunned silence until the station’s telephone rang breaking the spell. Hugh rushed to answer it as Jack lowered his head to pinch the bridge of his nose between his eyes as he felt the headache from earlier rush back at him in full force. Where was some strong coffee when he needed it?

Instead, he walked right into a faint cloud of familiar French perfume tinged with fear, something that he rarely associated with the woman who consumed his mind and heart, and whom he unexpectedly found in his arms. In his haze of thoughts, Jack failed to register that Phryne had suddenly stopped in her tracks to turn around to face him. He had automatically thrown his arms around her to prevent them both from colliding and toppling over across the threshold of his office.

“Jack?” Phryne eventually enquired as she read the myriad of unspoken emotions that flashed through his stormy eyes before he could resume his usual stoic mask. The one that she could usually see right through anyway. “Are you all right?”

Jack cleared his throat as they both found their balance and he slowly released her before rounding his desk and leaned against it.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you, Miss Fisher. Apologies for nearly knocking you over, are you all right?”

“Of course,” she waved off his concern easily as she claimed her usual perch across the corner of his desk. That was when he registered the fact that she was still wearing her exquisite beaded gown from the night before. “What was Bert alluding to? Where were you last night?”

Jack also sat down then as he considered what to tell her, all his practiced speech having deserted him after he had opened the station’s door barely moments earlier.

“I decided to catch up with an old friend of mine,” he replied calmly as he looked directly at her, “especially after our own plans had been, er, postponed.”

“Of course,” she repeated her earlier words, albeit with less flippancy this time as her gaze narrowed slightly. His heart gave a twinge as he took in the dark rings beneath her eyes that weren’t just a result of her smudged eye make-up. He was not a detective for nothing and instinctively reached out to take one of her limp hands in his own.

“Phryne, what’s wrong? What’s happened to Miss Williams?” Grateful for his years of training, he had been able to separate the heart of the matter apart from the accusations flying at him from the cabbie’s heated words. He gripped her hand more tightly as her face paled even more at his questions.

“I’m afraid that Dot’s gone missing, Jack. She simply disappeared last night, and never returned home. I had telephoned Hugh here at the station to ask if she was with him. He said that you had left, and tried to reach you at home…”

Jack closed his eyes briefly as his heart sank at her words. He should have been there for her, to help search.

“So, Hugh, Bert, Cec and I set out to look for her. We tried contacting her family, checked with her priest and at the church. We spent the entire night scouring the city, the docks...everywhere…”

It was like losing little Jane all over again. Jack could see it in her beautiful eyes, the worry and the pain. The quiet desperation burning deep inside her, threatening to tear down and destroy this new family she'd built for herself. Jack knew that Dorothy Williams was the closest thing to a sister Miss Fisher had. And now that the young woman had gone missing… He didn't want to think of what could happen if they didn't find her, if the system failed Miss Fisher again. No, he refused to think about it. It was not the time. It was not the place. Not if he could do something about it. He immediately banished the looming panic deep down that was reflected in her features. In order to do what he could to help her find Miss Williams. There was not a second to be wasted on thinking worst case scenarios.

“Oh, Phryne,” Jack stood up then to pull her back into his arms, this time deliberately. “I’m so sorry, I wish I had known.”

She sagged against him briefly, most likely from exhaustion he reasoned, before she pulled back suddenly. His heart dropped again as he quickly released her, thinking she was still disappointed in him for not being available to help search for her kind companion. But, where was her houseguest? Why hadn’t he helped her during her time of need? He began fuming just as she interrupted and once again captured his thoughts by drawing a small white envelope out from her handbag. She held it out for him without any preamble, although he knew her too well not to notice the slight tremor in her expression as she did so.

“What is it?”

“Open it. Mr Butler found it placed through the letterbox sometime around dawn. Hugh’s already dusted it for prints and there are none.”

Even so, he gingerly opened it without touching as much as of it as possible, which proved to be difficult for his large fingers. Pulling out a thin sheet of paper, something else slipped from the envelope and landed on the blotter of his desk. Every instinct of his immediately went into high alert as the inspector turned the parchment to read it:

“What the…” he began as Phyne picked the fallen object up and cupped it in the palm of her gloved hand.

“Yes, it’s a ransom note and a lock of hair exactly the same shade and texture of Dot’s,” she confirmed his unspoken question with a grim expression. “Someone has taken her from us, Jack.”


	3. Render no reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack do what they do best by going into investigative mode. But, this doesn't stop Phryne from mulling over some of her misgivings.

 

> _Trust your instinct to the end, though you can render no reason._
> 
> — Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

The sudden gust of wind blowing through the half-opened window of the motorcar caused Phryne to blink against the ends of her hair that pricked her eyes. She took advantage of the moment to cast what she hoped would be a surreptitious glance over towards her partner who didn’t even seem to react as he drove on with his eyes focused on the road like the proper officer of the law and law-abiding citizen that he was.

“Good thing you’re not sporting one of your cloches,” he commented in a deadpan tone without looking at her, prompting a slight smile to break out on her own features. In spite of the emotional turmoil and tension that had been smothering them (and that the detectives had been pretending wasn’t there at all, even if at moments it was as though _that_ was all there was), they had automatically launched into investigative mode.

After Jack had re-read the letter, Phryne revealed her deduction that they might find something more substantive by visiting Madame Lyons at the Imperial Club.

“Jack, it’s not an insignificant fact that whoever sent this mentioned Dot as ‘Lola’s saintly sister.’ This tells us that it was someone who is well aware of Dot’s connection to both Lola, or Nell rather, as well as to me.”

He had immediately agreed that was the best place to start in attempts to gather more information about the club owner’s staff members, and see if one of them could have a motive for abduction.

“I was surprised you didn’t go to the club last night,” Jack had commented to her earlier on their way there. “See if Miss William’s sister knew anything about her whereabouts, if she was with her.”

Phryne explained to him that she hadn’t checked with Nell first because she knew she’d moved away some time ago, after Maurie had been shot. Phryne could not help but think that maybe the young woman was running away from some dark memories, just the same way she herself had run from Paris after finally working up the courage to break it off with René. She did not tell Jack this observation, however.

In some ways, it came as a relief to know they could rely on the hard and tried truth that in spite of whatever might be brewing internally or wreaking havoc externally, the detectives knew that they could put everything else aside to work together, to do what they did best, to solve mysteries. They had proven that with the case at the medical faculty during that painful time of their estrangement. They still had not spoken about that convoluted time beyond their subtle (or perhaps, not so subtle) analogies about being dance partners. In this case, they had indeed stepped right along to their usual tempo to ensure they used every move within their powers and influence to make sure Dot returned home safely.

Either way, Phryne had to admit that she did feel immeasurably more relieved to be continuing the case with Jack back by her side again. Of course, she and the others had done the best that they could throughout the night, but she had to acknowledge that she felt more balanced as soon as Jack had walked through the station door

The lady detective could not believe this was happening again, that she was once more suffering from the terrible desperation that came with the possibility of losing someone dear, someone that she loved. She had survived Janey’s going missing (and her death, for she had always known her little sister would never return home alive). Sometimes she wondered how she’d managed to survive that. Where all the strength had come from? How had she survived the worst thing that ever happened to her? Worse than the war, and the abuse at the hands of Rene, and any other terrible thing she’d ever come face to face with. Nothing had been as bad as losing Janey, and now she was back in that hell, on the brink of reliving those horrors again as if a minute had not passed since the moment she noticed her little sister was no longer standing by her side watching the circus show.

The only other terrible moment that she could possibly compare it to was when she had heard the horrific news that Murdoch Foyle had abducted darling Jane in plain sight of her helpless and paralyzed family. Phryne’s hands immediately began to grow sweaty and then clammy as the emotions of both that sinisher moment and the panic when she couldn’t find her sister merged together to taunt her. She immediately began tugging off her driving gloves in any attempt to stave off her body’s instinctive reaction to the onslaught of adrenaline coursing through her veins (secretly grateful that she had listened to her instinct to accompany Jack instead of attempting to drive herself there). As she pulled the final one off, she felt Jack’s strong, yet gentle grasp reaching for her trembling fingers, his touch instantly tethering her frayed emotions. She let out the breath trapped within her lungs and exhaled audibly before turning to look at him directly this time with a decisive nod of thanks. His hand gave hers another reassuring squeeze before he returned it to the steering wheel and cleared his throat.

“Run through your theory about the ransom letter again?”

He wanted to help her focus without intruding into what he could tell had been an intensive inner battle for her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know, quite the opposite, in fact. But, he respected her space and right to hold onto whatever vestige of control she still had to get through the what he knew would be overwhelming memories and past grief. He had not spent his entire professional life observing and handling people shattered from humanity’s darkest experiences for nothing.

He had also not spent nearly the past year of being in Miss Fisher’s presence studying the nuances and depths of her remarkable countenance and reactions for nothing.

“Since the note was specifically sent to me with that phrase about Lola, whom we also know is Nell Williams, the sender is aware of my role in helping to solve Lavinia’s murder.”

“I agree,” Jack nodded as he slowed upon approaching a traffic light and pulled to a full stop. “I also agree with your earlier speculation that it could have been someone who was associated with Maurie, Lola’s almost fiance.”

“Do you really think it’s possible that they could have remembered me from my stint as Lulu Loreeta? It has been over half a year since we solved that case after all.”

“Well, your fan performance _was_ most memorable, Miss Fisher,” she grinned at the half-smile tugging at his lips as he slid one of his loaded glances over to her before returning his attention to the road as the light turned green. “And it’s entirely plausible that the constant press coverage of Sidney and George’s arrests and your admirable part in ensuring justice once again prevailed has more than prompted their memory.

“Besides,” he went on, “it is not an unknown fact that you are a wealthy woman. Whomever wanting to get their revenge could have hired low class criminals to handle this um, affair, on the promise of you paying up whatever sum they think it’s better suited for their, erm, services.”

“Revenge and money,” Miss Fisher whispered. “A most deadly combination if there ever was one.”

She knew that well, and so did he. They’d both seen it with their very own eyes far too many times, almost as much as they’d looked down the barrel of a gun without knowing whether it’d go off or not. How many murders had they solved that ended up as the result of someone wanting revenge, or money, or both? Yes, a most deadly combination, indeed.

And it was even deadlier when there were feelings involved. Hers. Dot’s. Hugh’s. And she knew, too, Jack’s as well. She could see it in his eyes, how much he cared for her and her little, mismatched family. Sometimes she even wondered if the inspector thought of them now as his, too. And it scared her, it really scared her, how much she wished he did, because she knew what it was like to be alone and adrift in a world so big and twisted, and she did not want him to ever feel that way. Not when her home and all the good souls in it would always be available for him in his time of need.

The problem with that was, she guessed, that if Jack ever thought of the St. Kilda residence as ‘home’ and her family as his, he must have scolded himself and pushed those ideas as far away as possible. Jack was just like that, after all. He would never accept being part of her family completely. She knew why, but she did not want to dwell too much on that.

It was not the time, nor the place, to examine the implications of her wanting Jack to feel at home with her when she knew very well that he most likely expected things in exchange she was not sure she could ever give to anyone, ever.

And yet she could not help it. She stole glances at him as he drove and thought of the way knowing this man had affected her. How her relationship with him had made the almost first year she’d been back in Melbourne so memorable and special. And so treasured. She should be worried about that, really. She did not like to depend on others to be happy. The Honourable Phryne Fisher only depended on herself, nothing and no one else.

But she could not lie: she needed him. She’d been so worried when they hadn’t been able to reach him when Dot after they had discovered that Dot had gone missing. Perhaps she had been dangerously entertaining the (wrong?) delusion that his presence and support would have made things better. Easier to deal with. Oh, she knew she was totally capable of conducting her detective business alone, and in fact, there were many cases that she took on and solved that were not connected at all with the inspector’s work or City South.

But this was different, and personal, and there were lives at stake. Dot’s life was at stake. And when she’d tried to contact Jack to let him know… Well, she had expected to reach him right away and have him by her side, being her sounding board and sharing theories and doing this and that with her, like they always did. Like partners always do. She never expected to not be able to reach him in those horrible first few hours. It had thrown her completely off balance, if she was to be honest.

And now there were those rumours, and Bert’s accusations that the inspector had been out with some other woman. And why wouldn’t he? He was a single and free man. He owed no one any explanations. He could come and go from whomever’s house as he damn well pleased, could he not? Just as she could and did. So, who was she to fret about Jack doing the same? It was ridiculous. It wasn’t her place. And under those circumstances, with Dot missing…this had to be the least of her worries.

So why did she feel sick to her stomach every time she envisioned him leaving the home (or worst, the arms) of a faceless, mysterious woman?

Maybe she was just curious. In the time she had known Jack, he had never shown any deep interest in anyone, male or female. She knew his divorce had to have been hard, with Rosie being who she was and how she was, and Jack being, well, Jack. (She tried very, very hard not to think of him as _hers_. Her Jack. No, he wasn’t. It wasn’t her place to think that, either. She shouldn’t. He was Jack, just Jack. He was no one’s, he was his own person just the same way she was hers.) It was natural, she supposed, for her to wonder who this woman was. One whom possessed qualities desired enough by the detective inspector that prompted him to pay her a visit after hours.

Hours that he should have and would have been spending visiting Phryne (perhaps even in her boudoir at long last) if it hadn’t been for...the other unwelcome bane of her life and thoughts at that moment. Yes, through no fault of her own (mostly), she was the one who had wrecked their highly anticipated and magical dinner...and who knows what else.

So, of course, she couldn’t hold it against him for choosing to spend his ruined evening and disappointment elsewhere. How many times had she done the same when unexpectedly turned down by a potential conquest? She had already tried asking him about his evening, but knew she wouldn’t get any more information than he had been willing to reveal.

If only that thought didn’t eat at her so much.

If only she was not being tortured by the guilt she felt because she was thinking of him in the same terms she hated other men thinking of her.

With these thoughts gnawing on her heart and mind, Phryne didn’t even realise that Jack had pulled up out front of her home, glad that he had remembered that one of the cabbies had taken her Hispano Suiza back from the station earlier.

“So, dinner at 8 o'clock? Or earlier for cocktails if you’re able to escape your desk sooner?”

She hoped she did not sound too desperate to confirm they were still on for that night. She never asked a man twice. For anything. She was not like that. She was the one always being asked out, and most of the time she turned men down when they did not suit her varied tastes. And when she was the one pursuing them (which, of course, happened very often), and if they wanted her attention, fine. If they didn’t, well, then “sayonara!” She didn’t waste another minute or thought on them.

What was so different about Jack, then? Why was she behaving in a way that was so… not her? Why did she care if he made it to dinner with her or not? If he didn’t want to go, if he wasn’t interested, well, that was his problem. It shouldn’t affect her. It shouldn’t make her so anxious. The Honourable Phryne Fisher, anxious over a man! And when her lovely companion was missing!

“I’ll do my best, especially now that we’ve got to find Miss Williams as well as the magic show murder to solve,” Jack nodded. “Although, I might be late since I need to run a quick errand after my shift ends. It shouldn’t take long.”

The kernel of jealousy that she had been deliberately ignoring reared its head and took another bite out of her heart when she sensed there was more he wasn’t saying. Even though her head again warned her that had no right to feel so damn possessive.

“Of course, take all the time you need, Jack. I’m looking forward to it,” she responded as she slid out of the passenger’s side.

“I’ll let you know if anything new comes up,” he promised as he started the engine again.

“Likewise.”

She found herself reluctantly closing the door and stepping back so he could swerve back into traffic. She even gave in to her ridiculous school girl urge to throw him a wave once he sped off.

But, he never looked back.


	4. Two-thirds wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne discovers an urgent new lead about the ransom...as well as who Jack's mysterious "lady friend" is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, we're so thrilled by your lovely comments and reactions to our latest fic! Hope you enjoy this update!
> 
> P.S. We're so close to reaching the next stretch goal of $600,000 for the [ Miss Fisher Movie Kickstarter ](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/468758721/miss-fisher-the-movie/description)! In case you haven't had the chance to [make your pledge ](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/468758721/miss-fisher-the-movie/description) to help support our beloved cast and Every Cloud's efforts to bring back Miss Fisher, Jack, Dot and the entire family back, [click here ](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/468758721/miss-fisher-the-movie/description)and show the world our MFMM love!

 

> _“Gossip, as usual, was one-third right and two-thirds wrong.”_
> 
> ― L.M. Montgomery, Chronicles of Avonlea

 

“Some tea, Miss Fisher?”

“Marvellous, Mr Butler!” Phryne dropped her pen and looked up from her scribbling with a tired, yet beaming smile at the welcomed interruption to her meandering notes about Dot’s disappearance. She had been so focused that she never even heard Mr B enter her study.

“I know Dorothy would never forgive me for allowing you to collapse in her absence,” he remarked whilst depositing the tray he was carrying onto a side table, and swiftly producing a steaming cup and plate of freshly-baked pastries for his mistress. Phryne placed a gentle hand on arm as he straightened to pass her the cup and saucer.

“We will find her and bring her back home soon,” the lady detective promised herself as much as she did him.

“Knowing that you and Inspector Robinson are looking for her reassures me more than I can express, Miss,” the kindly man smiled back at her.

Phryne knew very well what Dot meant to the old man: she was like the daughter he and his beloved Mrs. Butler had never been able to have. Mr. B still mourned the loss of his wife, he still missed her and was trying to make sense of her death. Losing someone dear to him again would be a blow to the heart she was not sure he could take. She wasn’t sure she could take it, either. She knew firsthand what loss did to a person’s life, heart, and soul, and she did not want to experience it ever again, nor did she wish it on anyone.

 _But you mustn’t think of losing your dear Miss Williams_ , she scolded herself in a voice that sounded too much like that of the Inspector. _You are better prepared this time, like you were when Miss Jane went missing. You will find her and bring her back home. You will, Miss Fisher. We will._

She found that she did not want to listen to that particular voice, either. Even if the words were reassuring and exactly what she needed to be told under these circumstances. Even if she trusted him more than anyone and believed in every word he said with a devotion that was not so in character for a woman who claimed to have never had faith in anything but herself.

 _But those aren’t Jack’s words I am hearing, though_ , she thought, and this time the voice sounded like her own, just the way she liked it. _These words are brand new, and yours, and in your head. But for some reason you are allowing his voice to take over and tell them to you._

She did not want to think about that and what it meant, either.

Realizing that Mr. Butler was still there, she refocused her attention on the old man, who was talking to her. She watched him tilt his head slightly a second before she too heard a noise coming from the direction of the kitchen’s back door.

“Ah, I had better go and check whether the ingredients for the inspector’s favourite cake have been delivered. Mr Yates and Mr Johnson entirely devoured the one I had made for last night’s dinner.”

“Thank you, Mr B, I’m sure the inspector will be delighted by your wonderful efforts as usual!”

Dinner with Jack was that night. Their rescheduled one that he did not know if he’d be in time for before they sat down to eat. Now, in the solitude of her home, Phryne’s thoughts returned unbidden to the niggling sensation from earlier where it could now manifest in her mind’s eye. Suddenly, a vision of the unknown woman whom Bert had heard about, the one who had been seen in Jack’s company appeared before her as though to taunt her. Gulping down her tea, Phryne shot to her feet determinedly. It was the lack of sleep, she reasoned. The anxiety over Dot’s disappearance and what could have happened to her.

She tried to distract herself by leaving the room and wandering into the parlour where she trailed her fingers along the piano. Images of Jack surprising her with his musical abilities replaced the spectre of the mystery woman. Memories of their spontaneous duet calmed her as she turned towards the mantel where the two of them had spent countless hours working through the knots of a case and then celebrating the end of many more. Much like the actual man himself, her reflections of him cleared her mind as she thought through their seemingly dead end visit earlier to the Imperial Club. What were they missing?

She tried not to focus on the fact that they were running out of leads...and time. The ransom demand had been made for midnight that evening. She didn’t care about the amount, that was immaterial when it came to bringing Dot home safely. Whoever did this would pay far more once she and Jack found them!

As though he could read her thoughts, Mr Butler once again materialised at the doorway, a grim expression cloaking his usually genial features. Phryne instinctively stepped closer in dismay once she registered the ashen pallor of his skin.

“What is it, Mr Butler? Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’ll be quite all right, Miss,” he responded. “However, I must admit to feeling very concerned to have found this amongst the usual deliveries crate. It was placed beneath the sugar.”

Phryne swallowed the dread seeping up her throat as she stared at the envelope he held out to her. One that was exactly the same colour as the one she had opened last night. The one containing a lock of dear Dot’s hair. Grasping it in her hand, she knew that this one was slightly heavier. She sank down onto the nearest chaise simply staring at it as Mr Butler moved to the side table. He returned with something stronger than her previous cup of tea.

“I shall be in the kitchen, Miss,” he informed her, allowing a hint of concern to tinge his usually refined tones, “unless there is anything else you will be needing?”

She knew what he meant by that. He wasn’t referring to another cup of tea, or some biscuits, or _Oh, yes, please, Mr Butler could you do the windows today?_ He was asking if she wanted him to stay with her when she opened the envelope. The dear old man was offering her his support. She couldn’t be prouder or happier for the supportive family she (finally) had.

“Thank you, Mr Butler, you go on. I just need a moment.”

“Of course, Miss.” With that he vanished just as quickly as he had appeared, giving her the space she needed for the time being with the reassurance of his presence when she needed it.

Phryne downed the brandy before rising to her feet to make her way back into the front hall where she had left her gloves. Slipping them on, she then quickly opened the envelope that revealed...several photographs. Each one featuring a gagged and bound Dot from a different angle. Resisting the urge to cry out or throw the black and white images onto the floor, she studied them as objectively as she could. She then pulled out the tiny note card on which the following words had been typed:

 

**The price has now doubled, but the appointed time has halved.**

**Come alone or there will be trouble to be had.**

 

Not caring about the increase of the ransom price, Phryne quickly calculated that the new drop-off time was now meant to be at 6 o’clock instead. Damnit! She ran to check the nearest clock, before heading for the telephone and dialing the number she could call in her sleep.

“Hugh, may I speak to the inspector please?” she began in as soothing a tone as she could muster, sensing the poor constable’s hope at hearing her voice. Phryne felt terrible for having to be the one to dash them again. “Stepped out? Do you know where or how long he will be?”

Phryne listened to the young man stuttering and took pity. “Never mind, Hugh, I’ll be right over. There’s been another letter.”

After reassuring her companion’s fiance that they were doing all they could to find Dot, and that she was on her way to brief him and the inspector about what had just transpired, the lady detective replaced the telephone’s receiver. As bereft and shaken that she had been over her dear friend’s disappearance, Phryne could only imagine how she would feel if she were in Hugh’s shoes. If fact, her knees threatened to buckle at just the mere thought of how she would feel if it was Jack who had gone missing. Before she could stamp out that debilitating vein of thought, a knock came at the front door. Her traitorous heart leapt as she stepped over to pull it open. Perhaps Jack had been able to finish early after all?

The door revealed the face of her father. Yet again. As well as another unexpected visitor. She didn’t expect to also find her Aunt Prudence on the stoop with an exceptionally full face of thunder.

“Aunt P? I didn’t expect you today. Did I forget an engagement?”

“No, my dear,” the older woman replied with a glare towards her brother-in-law. “I was nearby and thought to come by with a query I had with someone attempting to use my account at the Windsor. I wasn’t sure if you had needed it for something. Now, it would seem I have my answer.”

Phryne groaned, wanting nothing more than to wipe the smirk off her father’s face as he made up another set of lies about some misunderstanding with his account or some other nonsense. In reality, it meant he had nowhere else to go.

“I’m entertaining!” That fact was true even if her father didn’t need to know she was in the middle of one of the hardest cases of her life as well.

“You’ll barely know I’m here.”

“Unless you'd like some company, Prudence?”

“I'm redecorating.”

“Looks like I'm yours, my dear.”

Sighing audibly, Phryne stepped back resignedly to allow her nearest blood kin to enter, making her excuses about the need to follow an urgent lead for a case. Even if she hadn’t just received the latest ransom note, she simply couldn’t bear to remain in their bickering presence for another second. Gratefully depositing them into Mr Butler’s care, she grabbed her hat from its hook and made her way to her motorcar. Feeling like she was going to explode, she raced in the direction of City South Station.

As it was during one of the busier times of the day, Phryne eventually found a space to nip her vehicle into without too much mishap. She was just about to climb out when she spotted a familiar hat and overcoat emerging from a shop nearby. Curiosity instantly gripped her as she saw him holding a delicate bouquet of pale yellow roses. She peered through the windshield towards the building he had just left, and was surprised to note that it was a boutique florist shop she was unfamiliar with. Again, her heart did a slight flip flop as she found herself secretly delighted that Jack was buying her flowers! He had never brought her flowers before, but then again, he had no cause to since it wasn’t as though they were stepping out or anything. But, before Dot’s disappearance which they would no doubt continue to be strategising through this evening before the drop-off, it was still meant be a significant dinner.

Before she could dwell on it any further or get out to call to him, she was again intrigued to see Jack climbing into his motorcar that was parked nearby. Why did Jack drive to the florist shop when it was so close to the station? Keeping an eye on the black vehicle a few cars in front of her, Phryne started her engine and pulled out onto the street, deliberately keeping to the speed of traffic as she trailed her partner. Her heart sank lower with every mile that Jack drove in the opposite direction of St Kilda.

She slowed down when she noticed Jack doing the same still a good distance ahead. It was an area of town that she was not very familiar with although she had heard recommendations about one of the Italian restaurants. She pulled over to the kerbside next to a park to keep an eye on on the black police vehicle that stopped further down the street. Right next to a large, cream-coloured building that the inspector strode towards purposefully with his bouquet of roses. What on earth was he up to?

Waiting another few seconds, Phryne exited her own car, exerting her considerable willpower to clamp down the myriad of emotions and questions attempting to erupt from inside her like lava from a dormant volcano. This was not the time. Slipping through the park, the lady detective quickly made her way towards the row of bushes edging the building’s side windows. Ducking through a slight gap, she inched towards one of the long windows and peered inside, adjusting her eyes to get a glimpse of the interior through the gauzy white net curtain. Her eyes focused on the elegant tables already filled with a good number of well-dressed individuals. Her mind instantly cast about for her earlier thought about the local Italian restaurant. Evidently, Jack was well aware of it as well.

As though her thoughts had summoned him, she instantly spotted him enter through the main door where he was greeted by a man in a waiter’s uniform. Judging from the inspector’s expression and the welcoming gestures of the other man, Phryne instantly deduced that this wasn’t Jack’s first visit to the establishment. He looked too familiar with the place. At that moment, something claimed both men’s attention as they looked up the curving grand staircase to the side of the room. Phryne barely noticed the object of their gaze because she was focused on the uncharacteristic wide smile that had lit up her partner’s face. That same smile that he so rarely bestowed on anyone. Other than for her.

Or at least that was what she’d thought up until that day, that it was the smile only _she_ could put on the inspector’s handsome face.

“Ciao, Jack! Good, I’m so pleased you could make it!”

The lilting accent floated through the open window towards Phryne as she ripped her eyes away from Jack’s happy expression to behold the beautiful woman descending the staircase. She didn’t need any introductions for both her head and heart to recognise that this was _her_. The unknown mystery woman who had been haunting Phryne since the lady detective had first heard about her that morning. The woman who was reaching for Jack’s coat, caressing his hand, kissing his cheek in greeting as though she had been doing so on a regular basis for...Phryne couldn’t bear to guess for how long although she secretly longed to find out. Those were all things Phryne did with him, too, when he visited her home - the home that had always had its doors opened to him (but had not they also been open for anyone who knocked?) She thought she was the only one that could get that close to him, and look at him, touch him in a certain way, with a special familiarity, with some form of intimacy hanging lightly and delicately between them. It seemed that there was someone else in his life, another woman, that was allowed to look at him like that, and touch him like that, and make his eyes light up and the corners of his mouth contour in a sincere, beautiful smile.

It hit her like a bullet in the head: she was not as exclusive in his life as she’d thought. And it hurt. Damnit, it hurt.

“Concetta,” Jack’s voice seeped through the window, its familiar register etching an unwanted pang of _something_ deep down inside her. “These are for you.”

“ _Grazie_ , _Gianni_! So early, but, come sit, your table is always waiting.”

“I’m sorry, Concetta, but I cannot stay after all.”

“So soon? You only just arrived.”

“I know, I wanted to come to let you know that I couldn’t stay even though I know it’s a special occasion. I’m sure you will be able to celebrate your birthday just fine without me.”

Could Phryne have pulled through the previous year’s birthday party if Jack had not been present? Could she have done it without him? Smile at the guests, pour one glass of champagne after the other, dance the night away pretending to be carefree and happy and light as a feather when the truth was her sister’s murder was weighing down on her like the emotional ton of bricks it was?

She knew the answer, oh she knew it very well. She’d even known back then, that night, when she’d decided that show had to go on and that, as always, she would have to be the leading actress, entertaining everyone and bringing a smile up on everyone’s faces. Even if deep down the only thing she’d wanted to do was curl up on her bed and cry herself to sleep for the loss of the person she’d loved the most in all of her life.

But she’d done it all. She’d been the life of the party, _her_ birthday party, like she had reminded him in the kitchen mere moments before she stepped into the parlour and pretended she was not bleeding out from deep inside. And, partially, she had only been able to do it because he had been there. It had not been the only reason, she would not have called it off and sent everyone home, but it would have definitely been harder had he not shown up to offer his friendship, his support, his smile as he raised a glass and promised her with his eyes that everything would be fine. That that would, too, pass.

“It will not be the same without you. But, _si_ , you go,” and with that she leaned in to place another kiss onto his cheek before tenderly helping the inspector back into his coat. She then held his hand in that familiar way as he nodded at her and turned slowly back towards the exit.

Phryne snapped out of her shock after witnessing the intimate gestures and whipped herself away from the restaurant’s window. She tried not to panic when she saw Jack leaving through the front door. She needed to tell him about the new ransom letter, but not like this. And certainly not here! Counting silently in Italian to herself, she listened for the sound of his motorcar starting up before peeking around the leaves of her hiding place. As his vehicle disappeared, Miss Fisher straightened to her full height, brushed off the foliage her clothing had collected and marched resolutely back towards her own motor vehicle.

Now that she was no longer forced to comply with everyone else’s normal speed, the lady detective careened into motion at her usual top speed. There was not enough time to follow him back to the station.

_I’m coming, Dot!_


	5. Trust yourself

 

 

 

> _“Trust yourself. Create the kind of self that you will be happy to live with all your life.”_
> 
> — Golda Meir

“Inspector!”

Jack stopped mid-stride with his hand on the handle to his office door, gripping it momentarily to push away the adrenaline starting to rush through his body at the marked tone in his constable’s brief words.

“Collins?”

“Have you heard yet from Miss Fisher, sir? She telephoned less than an hour ago, and said she had an update…”

“What update? About Miss Williams?” Jack whirled around and made his way back to the front counter where Collins had been taking down details from another telephone call.

“Yes, sir! She said there’s been another letter, and that she would be on her way over after I told her you had stepped out for a bit. Have you spoken to or seen her, sir? Because she’s not yet arrived.”

Jack bit back a curse and attempted to regain his composure, especially in front of the man who looked like he was threatening to crack under the mammoth anxieties brought on by his fiancee’s abduction. It was not the time nor the place to be showing the emotions awoken by the current status of whatever he and Miss Fisher had (or didn’t have). Collins was worried for Miss Williams, and if there were any new leads he should get his head in the case and work to solve it soon so the young woman could be found and returned home safe and sound.

“No, Collins, I have not seen nor heard from Miss Fisher since I dropped her off at home earlier today. She didn’t give any other details at all then?” He adopted the reassuring tone he used when trying to speak to a spooked witness. Constable Collins knew better, though. And the Inspector was aware of that. He was not just merely the fiancé of an abducted person. He was an officer of the law himself, and a very good one at that. Jack thought that maybe he was being unfair in treating him like he would any other member from a missing person’s inner circle.

“No, sir, just that she had an update. Another letter. And that she’d be on her way over to brief us about it.” Jack could tell that the constable had assumed that he and Miss Fisher had gone to investigate her latest lead without him But, his good manners and nature kept him from showing any signs of his disappointment.  

“Right then,” he returned his hat back to his head. “Go tell Simmons to take over the counter, Collins, you’re coming with me.”

 _Just what we need,_ he muttered to himself as he marched back to his motorcar, _both of them going missing!_

 

*-*-*

 

He woke up in the middle of the night in a room that wasn’t his, on a sofa that wasn’t his, in a house he had never slept at before. The silk and cashmere cushion his head had been resting on was probably worth more than what he earned in a month, and the furniture and ornaments were expensive enough to buy his own bungalow a couple dozen times. And if those details quickly noticed due to his refined detective skills were not enough for him to deduce his whereabouts, then the fact that the owner of those cushions, that sofa and that expensive furniture herself was sprawled over him whilst fast asleep more than gave away the fact that Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was currently in Wardlow, residence of one Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.

Before he could methodically revise in his head what had led them both there (for he always treated everything as he would a case - whether this habit was a curse or a blessing, he still could not decide,) Miss Fisher clutched his shirt and began tossing and turning in the little space where she was trapped between Jack’s body and the back of the sofa. She was having what was undoubtedly a bad dream. Mumbled words that sounded like “Don’t leave me!” reached the inspector’s ears when he tried to move to give her more space.

She was very agitated, and he wondered whether this was something that happened to her under stress, or if she lived with night terrors regularly. His deductive mind also knew to query, mostly for himself, whether these had gone back even further than whatever she had experienced during the Great War. Based on his insights into this remarkable woman, Jack had the impression that she might have been haunted by these unwelcome nightmares ever since her sister had gone missing when they both were disadvantaged Collingwood children. No doubt, the fact that they still hadn’t recovered Dorothy Williams tonight was resurrecting the worst of them.

“Shhh, Phryne,” he tried to soothe her, relieved when the sound of his voice immediately stilled some of her thrashing movements. He tightened his arms about her and managed to pull himself up into a sitting position so that he could cradle her better. As her unconscious reflexes and features calmed, Jack squinted into the semi-darkness whilst listening to the reassuring rhythm of her breathing resume a steady pace. He then stood up steadily whilst balancing her in his arms before making his way over to the side of the bed and returning her to its silky sheets. He remained sitting  on the side of the bed until she became more settled again. Jack thought she looked so unearthly in her sleep, most likely due to the fact that she was barely ever still during her waking moments. He pulled the cover up her just as her face scrunched up as though she were in pain.

“Don’t leave me, Jack!”

“Shhh, I’m right here, Phryne. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you weren’t there.”

“Shhh, I’m here now.”

She began to move again, waving her arms about as though searching for something. He instinctively leaned over to enfold her back into his arms, afraid she would injure herself. As she relaxed again, he gently laid her back down whilst still holding her tightly in response to her tight hold on him so that his head ended up against her chest. He remained still listening to her heart beating. The sound was soothing in itself simply because it was hers. He briefly permitted himself to wonder whether he would ever have more chances to hear it this way and cherish it. But he knew it was impossible, and that he should not wish for what he could not have. He knew that the independent woman now sleeping peacefully once more had no issues with sharing her mind, but that she fiercely protected her heart and would fight any who tried to lay claim to it.

After she had relaxed back into what he hope would be a more peaceful time of rest, Jack returned to his post on the sofa. He kept a vigilant eye on his slumbering partner as he mulled back over the events of that evening.

Upon learning that there had been a new letter, he and Collins had immediately made their way directly to 221 B to begin tracking down the whereabouts of the absent lady detective. There, they learned from Mr Butler about the appearance of the new ransom demand, which the faithful retainer had quickly retrieved to show to the extremely concerned officers. Mr Butler was deeply worried that his mistress never reached her intended destination, and agreed that she must have gone straight to the drop-off point. ( _Oh, you know me so well, Jack Robinson_ , a voice too similar to hers for the senior detective’s liking had reverberated in his head.) Glancing at his wristwatch, Jack had stamped down any irritation at the fact she had gone without him or Hugh when he saw that it was just past the newly appointed drop-off time.

The two policemen had then raced to the site of the intended drop-off at speeds that only Miss Fisher might have attempted to surpass. The first letter had stipulated that the exchange should occur at midnight that evening at an abandoned brick factory on the edges of Brunswick, a rougher inner city suburb of Melbourne known for its textiles and industrial factories. Jack knew about the one that had been issued by the kidnapper from other unrelated incidents that his colleagues at City North had been dealing with as a result of high strung workers with nowhere to go due to the increasing number of unprofitable closures happening across the city. Unfortunately, areas like this were becoming increasingly hostile as unemployment swiftly rose.

Spotting the familiar Hispano, Jack instantly braked to a stop next to it before he and Collins dashed towards the derelict building and gaping door at its entrance. Jack’s eyes fought to adjust to the gloom they suddenly found themselves plunged into as he and his constable rushed inside.

“You were told to come alone,” a menacing voice echoed from somewhere above them. “Or there would be trouble.”

“Phryne, look out!” Jack yelled.

“Jack?” Miss Fisher had twisted around from where she was standing just as a loud rush of footsteps rumbled out, again from overhead. The inspector ran and lunged towards her just as Collins ran towards a set of stairs in the corner. Fortunately, the inspector’s quick action prevented a couple of flying bricks from reaching their mark, namely Miss Fisher. Unfortunately, he was unable to prevent the momentum of his movements as they both crashed to the ground where Phryne struck her head against some debris.

“You there, stop!” Hugh’s voice rang out and lingered in the cavernous empty space as he chased the unknown assailants into another part of the factory.

“Miss Fisher!” the inspector called out as he regained his equilibrium and quickly sat up to inspect his partner. “Phryne, can you hear me?”

He cupped her head and then scanned her face and body to check for any signs of injury. Not seeing anything obvious, he then gingerly removed her hat. He grimaced at the small trace of blood coming from where she had hit her head. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be gushing, which greatly relieved him, but he knew the real danger could come from anything internal.

“Miss Fisher? Phryne, can you hear me?”

It felt like an eternity before her eyelids flickered. He had never felt so happy to see her blue gaze focus on his face as he was then.

“Jack?” She asked in slight confusion making him worry that she could be concussed.

“It’s all right, Miss Fisher, are you able to sit up?” At her nod, he helped her into a sitting position just as Collins re-joined them on the former factory floor.

“Sir, I’m afraid they got away! They had a vehicle waiting at the back. And, I’ve checked everywhere I could...but, there’s no sign of Dottie,” the constable reported, unable to hide the anxiety in his eyes before they widened at the sight of them both still sitting on the factory floor. “Miss Fisher, are you all right?”

“Yes, of course, Hugh,” Phryne tried to reassure him with a quick smile even though her dizziness still assailed her and her head throbbed. She glanced at Jack’s intense gaze and nodded slightly in spite of his grim expression and firm arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry we were unable to find Dot...again.”

She was. He knew she was. To her, it was like failing her sister all over again. He would never acknowledge this directly, but Jack could see how missing person cases affected Phryne more than any others. In fact, even though she was emphatic and had a good heart, murder cases usually did not affect her more than they did him. Kidnappings and missing persons (and anything to do with children, though she'd never admit to it) were different.

“We _will_ find her. But, first, let’s get you out of here,” Jack’s tone brooked no arguments as he loosened his hold to allow his partner to assess her limbs. She managed to stand to her feet after taking his hand and allowing herself to hold on a bit longer until the swaying sensation passed. She then took his arm to indicate she was ready to move.

“May I take you to hospital, Miss Fisher? You’ve got a nasty cut that should be tended to.”

“No, I’ll be fine, Jack,” she squeezed his arm. “Please, just take me home.”

“All right,” he eventually agreed. “So long as you allow me to telephone Dr MacMillan as soon as we arrive.” Satisfied with her nod, he turned to Constable Collins.

“Collins, please take the motorcar and the new ransom letter back to the station to add to the case file. Write up everything you can remember about what happened and do your best to describe whoever was here. Miss Fisher and I will keep you informed of any new updates.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh immediately responded.

“We will find her, Hugh,” Miss Fisher reached out to grasp the younger man’s arm before he turned to complete his orders. “They evidently weren’t going to return her today in spite of what they had promised. But, we will find her!”

“Yes, Miss,” Collins had smiled bravely at her as they approached the vehicles outside the gate.

After he reluctantly driven her back home, Jack stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited until Phryne had climbed to the top on her own (at her insistence) before placing the telephone call to Mac.

“Bloody hell, Inspector, what’s she done this time?”

There was brief silence on the other end of the line after Jack had methodically briefed his partner’s friend.

“You’re right, Inspector, it sounds like she might have a concussion. And if the wound has clotted, then she can stay put for now. Unfortunately, I am about to be called in for an emergency caesarean for a mother of expectant twins. Can you please remain there and keep an eye on her until I finish and can make my way over?”

“We also both know how she likes to remind everyone that she can take care of herself, Dr MacMillan.”

“I’m counting on you, Jack!” He knew he was in trouble as it was the first time the doctor had addressed him directly by his given name. “I know she likes to do damn well what she pleases. But, somehow, you’ve proven to me that she’ll at least acknowledge your input when I’m not about.”

Glancing again at his watch in the dim moonlight streaming through the window, Jack noted that it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. He recalled Mr Butler coming up before midnight to say Dr MacMillan had telephoned again. The doctor had informed the inspector that she would have to send her regrets due to another emergency. After ascertaining that there had been no changes to Miss Fisher’s condition warranting him taking her to the hospital, Mac assured him that she would be over first thing in the morning after her night shift ended. Jack knew then that he had been officially commissioned to keep an eye on their patient in her absence (and sadly, that of her companion).

Of course, Mr Butler had offered to take over the night watch, but Jack had declined knowing that the kindly man also needed his rest. On top of the turmoil the older gentleman mastered so well, Jack felt slightly guilty that Mr Butler had been preparing all day long for the second ruined dinner in his honour. The one that they still had managed to eat, albeit in not quite the manner that either he nor Miss Fisher had envisioned after she had admitted to feeling an ongoing sense of dizziness. Jack knew that it must have been quite severe for her to so readily agree to his suggestion that they dine upstairs instead where she could still rest. Thus, although it was with a considerable less amount of fanfare or candlelight than she may have intended originally, she managed with a tray whilst sitting up in her bed. And he gratefully devoured the roasted lamb and orange velvet cake from the sofa and side table that had become his post for the evening.

In spite of everything, it was reassuring to know that they could still take comfort in their usual witty banter and compare case notes even as they both managed to skillfully avoid mentioning anything about the thoughts and rumours that had been consuming them of late. For now, it was enough to know the other was there even if they still chose to do their awkward dance around whatever this _thing_ between them was. At least until they could rescue Dot and bring her home safely.

“Jack?”

“I’m here,” he instantly responded, lifting his head from where he had been gripping it in his hands. He straightened up from the hunched position he had unknowingly adopted as he worked through his thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think,” she replied slowly with a strong note of hesitation tingeing her whisper.

The uncharacteristic vulnerability in her voice summoned him back to her side before he even realised it. Kneeling down at the side of her bed, he reached out a hand to brush the hair back from her eyes and eyed the bandage she had wrapped against the cut after treating it herself before they had eaten their dinner. Relieved that it didn’t appear to be stained with any fresh blood, he waited with what she had once teasingly referred to as his “infinite patience” sensing she had more to say.

“But, I keep having...bad dreams.”

She said it like it was something wrong. Something to be embarrassed about. Only if she knew that he still dreamed about the trenches, and the soldiers - both dead and alive, both silently bleeding or doing so whilst calling out for their mothers, all of them victims. Only if she knew that he still had nightmares with an alarming frequency. He didn't like talking about them either, and maybe that was why she didn't know. Maybe that was a mistake, keeping it all in, bottled up and to himself. It was like poison slowly spreading through his bloodstream every time he had another nightmare, another flashback. He would have bad dreams if he were forced to go back to some version of that hell. He did when he worked cases that involved veteran soldiers or shell-shocked men. He guessed that for Miss Fisher, her sister's disappearance was her very own great war. Even if she also was a survivor, even if she'd been to the trenches, he suspected that the pain, albeit terrible, did not compare to the hole in her heart and soul carved by Murdoch Foyle with his very own dirty hands. It made Jack hate him even more, as if being a children's murderer wasn't enough reason to hate the monster. But he hated it that he had dared touch and tamper with the Honourable Phryne Fisher. His evilness and cruelty had not altered their enormous beauty, and she still had the most beautiful heart he had had the pleasure of knowing (even if the night before he had been cursing the day he had decided he'd never love anything else as much as he did this woman). It spoke volumes about the nature of Miss Fisher that she'd remained, if not intact, then uncorrupted by the consequences of that bastard’s actions.

“I’m not surprised that you have them,” he readily acknowledged squeezing her hand after she had reached for his. “This must all be dredging up horrible memories for you.”

Floods of guilt immediately shot through him as Jack allowed himself to lament not being there for her as he should have been when she had needed him. Of course, he had not intentionally deserted her since it had been unlucky timing that he had been out when she had legitimately needed him. Yes, she had had the unwavering support of Mr Butler and even those loyal red raggers of hers. All the same, he felt as though he had fallen short as her friend, partner, and whatever more he might mean to her, when he once again realised what Phryne had been shouldering emotionally at Dot’s abduction.

“It seems you’re always having to remind me to not be afraid of shadows, Inspector.”

A couple of several well chosen words and he was back in that moment, looking in the eyes of a woman that represented both a mystery and a challenge, a temptation and a balsam in his times of need and hurt over what still remained from the wrecks of his marriage.  

He reached out through the semi-darkness then to gently cup the side of her face, knowing she had somehow read his mood and was attempting to reassure him. He never failed to be amazed at her ability to give of herself even from the midst of her own fear and uncertainty.

“And you’re always having to remind me to not take things so seriously, Miss Fisher.”

“Alongside when to eat,” she agreed in her familiar cheeky tone. Jack more felt then saw her shuffling about, feeling a marked pang of loss as she let his hand go and shifted away from him. “And, when to sleep.”

Jack’s exhausted mind recognised what he felt was a gentle dismissal. He was about to stand and return to his post when her sleepy voice and hand again reached out to caress him.

“I meant here, Jack. Next to me,” he let her fingers move his over as she patted their hands against the spot she had just vacated.

He froze. He had not slept next to a woman in a very long time. His history of bed sharing with Rosie had been nothing but short-lived. First he went to war, and Rosie wait for him with a vacant right side of the bed and his pillow fluffed and ready for his head to lay on. As if Jack was about to walk into the room again any night. But, finally, one day it did happen. He came back to the home they had bought together and planned to start a family in. He was expected to once again occupy his side of the bed, right next to his wife. However, he was no longer the same man that had slept there before. The nightmares and war flashbacks were too intense and frequent for Rosie to deal with, and Jack did not want her to deal with them either. He was sleeping in their guest bedroom two months after his arrival in Melbourne, and somehow never returned to the room the couple had shared in the early days of their marriage. One neither envisioned would be doomed to fail.

Miss Fisher’s voice returned Jack's feelings and thoughts back to this other room in his present, to that bed she was now inviting him to share with her. One that he had been resisting for so long for reasons that he couldn’t readily recall in his physically and emotionally spent state.

“And before you argue, trust me, we both need to be at our best tomorrow morning, or we’ll have Mac’s wrath to deal with on top of everything else.”

_Trust me._

Of everything she had just uttered, those two words took hold of him in an entirely different way than the playful one she had just intended. She was right, of course (and as usual). What did it matter what others speculated about their relationship (not that he had really cared to let any of the rumours bother him, to be honest) or whether or not she had a houseguest staying with her who wore damned cravats (he hadn’t failed to notice the one left next to the telephone when he had made his call to Dr MacMillan earlier). Whatever this indescribable bond between them was, Jack Robinson knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did and would indeed always trust this woman who so willingly bestowed him with hers. And that above all else was a gift he would treasure no matter whatever befell them.

This relationship, whatever it was and however it worked, found him a wiser man. And this woman who had somehow become so intrinsic to first his working life and now, the rest of it, had lived through so much, had also seen so much. She understood. She saw him. She had the same battle scars he bore with pride, and a few others too. And she took pride in them as well. Miss Fisher could, and did, give him what it took for his heart to want to open up and share itself again. It had never happened again after the war. Not this freely, not this completely. The fact that he acknowledged it and could tell the difference was one of the things that made him a wiser man. Or at least he wanted to believe that. It was up to him whether he decided to also be braver.

At that moment, he decided that he would become braver. For her. For them. She was being brave, and he owed it to her to be so, too.

With that, the inspector stood and quickly slipped off his waistcoat and shirt (he had shed his jacket and cufflinks hours ago somewhere in the room). This was followed by his trousers and socks before he donned the set of blue pyjamas that Mr Butler had thoughtfully laid out for him earlier should he have need of them. Then, removing his wristwatch, he carefully slid into the bed next to a now dozing Phryne who instinctively burrowed herself right up against him. Feeling a strange sense of peace and contentment that he had not experienced in a very long time (especially in the middle of the night), Jack allowed himself to slip an arm around her as he closed his eyes.

“Sweet dreams, Miss Fisher.”


	6. Know how to live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne continue to ponder the changing tides in their relationship until a new lead about Dot arrives at the door.

> _As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live._
> 
> — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

His attention snapped back into place when he nearly knocked over the undoubtedly expensive vase on the landing as he slowly made his way down the stairs. _Focus, Jack_ , he berated himself. He glanced up again towards the top floor, reassuring himself that Phryne was in the best of hands after Dr MacMillan had fulfilled her promise to check in following her long night shift.

As usual, Mr Butler had displayed his penchant for foreseeing events and woken the inspector before the doctor arrived by bringing in his freshly pressed suit. He had also informed Inspector Robinson that an array of washing and shaving accessories were available to him in one of the adjacent guest rooms. Jack had just started thanking the butler when he heard the light, yet distinct knock from downstairs.

“That must be Dr MacMillan,” the kindly retainer had commented before vanishing again with a reminder about breakfast being available downstairs.

Jack had then tentatively sat up by this point, allowing his mind to catch up with current events. Not the least of which was that he had spent the night in Miss Fisher’s opulent bed wearing silk pajamas with the very lady herself nestled snugly into his side, an arm still wrapped about his waist. A myriad of emotions flooded him as he looked down at her. He couldn’t resist leaning down to gently place a kiss against her cheek before brushing her hair aside to assess her injury. Relief immediately calmed him as he noted that the bandage still looked clean. In fact, apart from some possible bruising, she should be no worse for wear. Jack jumped slightly when he heard another voice state that very same thing. He swung his gaze to the doorway where a tired, yet amused Dr. MacMillan was propped against the frame.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he rasped out as though it was a regular occurrence for her to find him in her best friend’s boudoir. He tried his best not to ponder if she found this all very natural because it was _him_ , or if her reaction was simply due to the fact that this was Miss Fisher’s bed, and, therefore, it was not a strange sight that a man was sharing it with her.

“Morning, Inspector,” she promptly responded, unfolding herself from the door and approaching with her bag. “Thank you for doing such an excellent job of minding our patient. I trust there haven’t been any further changes to her condition?”

“No, no, she slept straight through and moved accordingly whenever I remembered to prod her,” Jack’s ears flamed bright red when he realised how that sounded. “To...to ensure that she was actually sleeping and not, er, unconscious, I mean.” He coughed slightly as he gingerly pried Phryne’s arm from around him and attempted to ease out of the bed. She audibly complained before flopping onto her back.

“Wise thinking,” the doctor responded, her tone remaining professional, although her twinkling eyes belied much more. “Now, let’s take a look, shall we? Wakey, wakey, Phryne!”

Jack took the opportunity to stand and silently thanked Mr Butler for placing a robe nearby. Murmuring something about freshening up and getting out of the way, his heart again jumped slightly at the sight of Phryne’s expression when she begrudgingly opened her eyes at last.

“Morning, Mac,” she mumbled with an elegant stretch. “I had the most delicious dream about Jack…”

“Who was just about to leave,” her friend quickly cut Phryne off with a significant head tilt to indicate the inspector still hovering by the door.

“Hello, Jack!” Phryne quickly turned towards him, frowning slightly.

He immediately blushed again as he realised how it must seem for her to see his rumpled appearance, wearing pajamas in her inner sanctum wearing pajamas, no less. But then, he remembered, it was _her._ There was something about her that, from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her, had made him feel differently. Maybe it was because she was so unlike any other woman he’d ever met. He had not known exactly what at first, and he would not lie and say that it did not unsettle him and make him feel off balance at some point. But now he understood it better (or so the inspector liked to think): she made him feel like he could do things he’d never done before, never even imagined himself doing before, and perhaps waking up in bed with a woman he was not married to whilst her best friend stood there waiting to examine her after she had just sustained a head injury whilst trying to solve a kidnapping was one of those things.  

He smiled to himself before he spoke to the woman in question:

“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled out. “I do hope you are feeling better. Please excuse my less than appropriate attire. Why don’t I go make myself more presentable now that Dr MacMillan is here to assess you?”

He then slipped through the door before she could respond, not realising that he had misinterpreted her frown that was actually due to a brief spell of dizziness from turning her head too quickly.

 _So much for having a moment’s confidence, Inspector,_ he scolded himself.

Now, he managed to navigate his way all the way down to the front hall, looking mostly like his usual self. He had just approached the archway to the dining room when an unfamiliar voice and man greeted him from the table.

“Hungry? I can recommend the omelette.”

“Ah,” Jack began in a bewildered tone.

“Henry George Fisher, Baron of Richmond. We haven't been formally introduced.”

A burst of activity sounded down the staircase, interrupting the men as Phryne appeared next to Jack in the doorway followed by an exasperated Dr MacMillan.

“Father!”

“Phryne!”

“Mac, I said I was fine!”

“I don’t know why I bother,” the doctor muttered as she slipped in between the detectives and took a seat at the table. “Good morning, Baron, it’s been awhile.”

“Ah, Mac, my dear,” the baron responded amiably. “Patching up my girl again, I see?”

The doctor responded by rolling her eyes before gratefully accepted the cup of black coffee Mr Butler had placed before her. Dr MacMillan had heard enough about her dear friend’s father to have formed an opinion on the man even before she had first met him. Phryne and the doctor had shared stories about their childhood and upbringing, and it was clear that a lot of the suffering Phryne had gone through was due to the kind of father she had had. The woman also had formed an opinion on her friend’s mother judging by what she had allowed her horrible husband to do to her children, defending him and standing by him instead of protecting Phryne and Janey, but it was hardly the time nor the place to be thinking about that.

“This is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” Phryne interjected from the doorway, wrapping her arms around her robe.

“Inspector?” Lord Fisher looked surprised for some reason. He was always cautious when it came to  the police, of course, having had his fair share of difficult encounters with them over the years. He still had them now from time to time, title and fortune and all notwithstanding. They had, policemen, this love for the law and what was wrong and what was right that simply did not sit well with the elder Fisher. Everything was neither black nor white for those folks, while he preferred to appreciate the beauty of the grey areas, to put it poetically (or so he thought, anyway).

“Yes, Father, an _officer of the law_ ,” his daughter clarified, a slight note of annoyance in her voice that the old man was used to. When did his daughter not speak to him, or about him, with disdain dripping from her voice? He was used to it, so he ignored it. He would never admit this to any other living soul, but it hurt a little to know the only daughter he had left held such feelings towards him.

“Jack, my father here and his unanticipated arrival is the reason why I had to cancel our dinner plans the other night,” Miss Fisher said to the Inspector, whose face now mirrored the colour of chalk.

So the unexpected caller had been her father! Her father! Why had she not told him so? He did not know about Miss Fisher’s relationship with her parents in much depth, but what he knew was enough to understand that she did not think highly of her father. He could not blame her, to be honest, for he himself felt something among the lines of anger toward the man he was now just meeting, simply because he was aware of the fact that his lack of skills as a father figure had hurt Miss Fisher more than she would ever let on.

He wondered if her damaged relationship with her father had been the reason why she had chosen not to tell him he was the person that knocked on her door unannounced and caused their dinner plans to be cancelled. The Inspector cursed himself for the angsty, bitter hours he had spent sulking, an invisible hand gripping his throat and threatening to squeeze until he could not breathe anymore with the pain of it, and his chest heavy with the feeling that falling in love with her had been the most absurd, regrettable mistake he had ever made.

But it did not matter why she had chosen not to tell him her father was visiting, right? To him, what mattered most (what worried him most) was how he had reacted. How emotions had clouded him, blinded him, hurt him until he had felt he would bleed out right there and then whilst he contemplated his feelings for a woman he thought had no interest in him other than to bed him once, twice, maybe a thousand times in the course of several months, but nothing more. Nothing different from what she wanted with other men. Nothing different from what she’d still share with other men whilst he shared that intimacy only with her.

How wrong he had been. Oh, how terribly wrong he had been.

If the night before had shown him a side to his and Miss Fisher’s relationship that he had not yet known, then this eye-opener moment, standing right then and there with her and her father (the unexpected gentleman caller he had thought to be a former lover, nonetheless!) confirmed what he had suspected that night when he’d been getting ready with his new suit and tie especially selected for the occasion: their partnership, their friendship, became closer with each passing day to crossing a line that would never be uncrossed once left behind. And whether they were ready or not, whether the consequences would be for better or for worse, it would happen, and there was nothing they could do to stop it from happening.

“Very pleased to meet you, Lord Fisher,” he said, his professional politeness sliding into place as they shook hands. He could not help but notice, with no little amusement, that Miss Fisher was rolling her eyes. She did not care if her father saw it, and Jack was not sure that she was not doing so because she knew the baron could see her very well- it was not something he would put past her, to be honest.

“No formalities necessary, Jack,” the baron stood and extended a hand in greeting. “Please, call me ‘Henry’!”

“Er,” Jack began automatically shaking the other man’s hand, unsure how to respond given the other man had already taken it upon himself to address the inspector so familiarly. He was saved from further speech by Mr Butler’s arrival with a fresh pot of coffee, several empty mugs, and a plate of toast on a tray. “Thank you, Mr Butler, but I really should be going.”

“I think I’ll try another omelette,” Henry acknowledged the inspector’s departure with a mug in response as Mac continued to roll her eyes and began chewing on some toast in silence. Jack turned and reached for his hat and coat hanging conveniently by the door just as Phryne whirled about to follow him.

“Jack! I was going to explain last night, but...I was in no fit state.”

“I noticed,” he replied drily, and couldn’t help adding, “You shouldn’t have gone to the drop-off location on your own.”

There was a moment’s silence between them. It seemed odd, really, that just the night before they had slept together- _literally_ slept together, his arms around her and the warmth of their bodies cocooning them in an invisible, safe net that, even if just for a few hours, kept them hidden from the rest of the world. A world where nothing was certain, and Miss Williams was still missing, and Miss Fisher’s father was visiting and making her relive some of the darkest times of her life just by _being_ there and reminding her of her family’s painful past experiences by his physical existence.

Oh, how daylight changed things. How it made apparent and clearer and much more real the fears they both hosted in their souls after years of searching for different things and yet being so close to finding out that maybe they did want the same thing, after all. Even if they were opposites meant to meet, but never touch. But it was late for that now, wasn’t it? They had shared a bed, and although nothing sexual had transpired, emotions had been raw. And she had asked him to trust her, and he had realized that there was no one in the world that he trusted more.

But here he was this morning, bitterness on his tongue and laced tone, doing exactly what he knew he shouldn’t do: building up a wall between them again. As if the night before had not happened. As if they had not woken up in each other’s arms. As if she had not asked him to stay with her, lay by her side and hold her. As if he had not done all of that, his heart beating in a way he thought would never beat again, not after the tragedies and pain he’d witnessed in the trenches had led him to believe that he was doomed. Destined to be one of the men that returned home with all his limbs, but with a bleaker perspective on humanity than when he had left.

What was it that made him act like this with her, all dry and distant? Could he not find other ways to tell her that he did not approve of her going alone to the drop-off place? Was it really necessary for him to build up this wall once again? Was this self-preservation? Oh, how different everything was once daylight came, indeed. How different it felt now, for he understood that the lines that had been crossed so far now would never be uncrossed, that there was no turning back, and that what had to happen would eventually happen, and he’d been powerless against it. He’d have to fall on his knees and let it happen, let _her_ happen, but more willingly this time. For even when he’d hidden, and protested, and guarded his heart, and tried to run away, and had built a thick wall brick by brick to keep her out, everything had failed ,and he had fallen for her nonetheless. It had not worked, and it would not work. He knew that. Then, why was he trying to make the same mistakes again? Why was he resigned to try what he knew did not work against the force of nature that was Miss Fisher? Why did he bother resisting what she made him feel?

He was about to tell her that he had not meant it like that. That he knew how important Miss Williams was to her, just like family. That he understood why she had not seen reason and perhaps acted a little bit more recklessly than she usually did, just to put it lightly; they had even talked about it the night before, in the quiet, inviting darkness of her boudoir after they had finished Mr Butler’s delectable meal. He had mentioned the horrible memories this whole affair must be dredging up, and she had thanked him for his constant reminders that shadows were not something to be afraid of.  

That was how it worked with the inspector and the lady detective: they talked more and in more depth when they were not talking at all, when they were just looking at each other. Having almost wordless conversations that were strongly punctuated by the looks in their eyes and the intensity of that something that had ignited between them ever since they had met.

But she spoke before he could tell her that no, he hadn't meant it like that, and yes, he wished he could have gone with her. But, he did not blame her for her recklessness now that it was not simply a case, but Miss Williams’ life that was at sake.

She spoke, and when she did he could feel something inside him break. And, it was not the newly-built wall that a moment ago he had been determined to break down before it could become as tall as it used to be months ago.

“I might not have if I had been able to contact you when I rang the station.”

A slap or two, or maybe a punch in the stomach, could have hurt less. He would have actually preferred one of those, or maybe both.

She was implying that he had let her down, or at least that was how he felt. She was telling him that when she’d looked for him in a moment of desperation, when it seemed that the missing person’s case that had Miss Williams as its victim would be finally solved, and the girl returned home safely, he had not been reachable. It was there, in her tone and the way the words had escaped through her lips, and the look in her eyes telling him that she had had to go alone because he had not been there. Again.

It was ridiculous to feel guilt, or was it not? He had other cases to solve. He had a job at the police station, he was a senior officer of the law. He had other responsibilities. And Miss Fisher never waited on him when she set her mind to do something. She did what she wanted when she wanted. It wasn’t like they let the culprits get away because she had no idea what to do and he was not there to walk her through it. She would have been more than capable to sort out the drop off and money-victim exchange had that been the intention of the captors.

The guilt he felt came from somewhere else. He felt guilty because he had not been busy following a lead for another case, or interrogating suspects, or doing anything related to official police business. He had been visiting a woman, an old friend of his that had invited him to her birthday party. He had been with someone else, someone he valued as a person and that he cared for, but to whom his heart had never belonged (and now, he realized, never would), all because he had wanted to prove himself that he too could do whatever he wished with whomever he wished as well. Phryne waited to see if he would tell her about his visit to the Italian restaurant. Jack stared intently at her, and she watched as his response gathered in his eyes. She stepped a little closer and ran a hand down one of his suit’s lapels.

“You looked very comfortable in those pyjamas.”

Several times she had imagined what had happened that morning: waking up in his arms, or next to him, his warmth protecting her from the nightmares that came at times like these. It wasn’t like she couldn’t protect herself, but it was true what she so often said to him. Sometimes one just needed someone to remind them not to be afraid of shadows. That someone, for her, was Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

He did look comfortable in those pyjamas. Phryne could not help but wonder how he would look without them. How they would look on the floor of her boudoir. And maybe, just maybe, how she would look wearing them in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

“Ah yes, remind me to thank, Mr Butler.”

“I’ll be sure to have them freshly laundered and stored in my personal wardrobe for next time.”

Next time.

Would there be a next time? She hoped so. She wanted to believe that they would work out whatever bad blood was currently running between them and threatening to poison their relationship. It was the first time she was so determined to make something work out between herself and a man. She was not one to stay around, for men’s attention was not exactly something she ever lacked. But with Jack it was, as always, different. This particular man was the exception to every one of her rules. Most of all, he was her partner, her friend, before anything else. She did not want to lose that.

Before Jack could respond, a loud knock interrupted them with an incessant pounding on the front door. Arching an eyebrow, Miss Fisher stepped over to open it, revealing a tense Cec and Bert standing on the front porch holding a large chest between them.

“Comin’ through!” Bert emphasised with an unveiled glare towards the inspector. Apparently, the cabbie still wasn’t over his grudge from yesterday morning.

“Urgent delivery,” Cec chimed in as the baffled detectives moved aside to allow the cabbies to carry their burden into the parlour where they deposited it unceremoniously. Miss Fisher looked at Jack who merely raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to do the honours. She knelt down after putting on some gloves and began to unfasten the latch.

Her heart was beating rapidly. The chest could not be big enough for a cadaver to fit in there, or could it? No, she would not find that when she opened it. How many times had she dreamed, as a child, of walking down an empty beach and finding a treasure chest like the ones Janey and she were always talking about when they played pirate girls in their bathtub ship? How many times had she dreamt that when she opened the chest’s lid, she would find her sister’s fast asleep only to realize upon wanting to wake her up that she was cold, dead...and gone?

Jack had been there with her when she’d finally found Janey. It was from him that she had drawn the strength she’d needed to endure that heart-shattering experience. He had been there with her then, and he was here with her now.

She could do this. Whatever was inside that chest, she could face it because he was there if she needed him.

Blindly, like she had done months ago while kneeling on the ground near the tree Murdoch Foyle had described, Phryne looked for Jack’s hand with hers. He took hers immediately, and she felt comforted in knowing that he too knew how much he was needed in that moment. How much she was relying on him, his friendship, his trust.

 _Trust me,_ she had asked of him.  

 _Trust him,_ she said to herself.

And then she opened the chest.

To find an array of hastily bundled clothing. As she reached into pull one or two of the top articles out, she choked back the sob that threatened to erupt from her throat. She recognised the clothing. They were unmistakably ones that belonged to Dot. The outfit she had been wearing the night she went missing.

“Oh, Dot, I hope we’re not too late!”

 


	7. The best proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are very happy that we are finally posting a new chapter to this story. Our lives have been a little bit complicated as of late with work, and family, and big plans for the future, but this story and our beloved characters are always in our hearts and never far from our minds. And we can say the same about our dear readers (that's you! Haha) Thank you so much for the patience and kind comments asking after this story. We hope you enjoy this new chapter. We clearly enjoyed writing it.

 

> _“The best proof of love is trust.”_
> 
> — Joyce Brothers

Miss Dorothy Williams had a faith in her God that could only be described as fierce. Her mother had taught her about religion early on in her life, and she had embraced those lessons and lived by then ever since. Her God was her greatest strength. She worked very hard every day to be a good child to her Heavenly Father, and thus far, he had never abandoned her.

When Dot woke up to find herself in semi-darkness, alone in a cold, echoey room with her hands bound in front of her, she never thought- not even for a second- that her had Father had forsaken her. She may have not known where she was, or why, but she knew very well who was with her, in her heart, looking over her physical and spiritual well being,

It did not make her feel any less scared, but it made her feel less alone.

The Dorothy Williams that she had been prior to becoming the Honourable Phryne Fisher’s personal assistant would have panicked, and cried, and prayed, and maybe cried some more whilst she prayed. But the young woman that had been abducted no longer resembled the shy girl that had once walked into the Andrews’ house seeking employment as a maid.  She prayed, but she shed no tears. Dot knew it was important to be quiet if she wished to remain alone in the small room where she was being held captive. It would give her time to try and explore, gather information and try to determine where she was and- most importantly - why and thanks to whom. That was how Miss Fisher worked. Dot knew she was not like her miss, but she wished she could say she’d learned one thing or two in her time assisting the lady detective.

Her hands were bound, but her legs were not. That was good. She was used to sifting through circumstances now and trying to focus on the positive. As though she could hear Miss Phryne’s voice in her head reminding her to search for what the most useful aspect in her condition and surroundings, Dot thanked the Good Lord that she wasn’t blindfolded and took a physical and mental inventory of her body first. The fact that she had full use of her legs  was definitely a positive aspect to focus on. She could take a look around and try to decipher where she was.

With more effort than she thought would be necessary, Dot managed to stand up. The room where she was being kept was dark and small, and it could certainly do with a good cleaning. Upon getting on her two feet, she noticed that her shoes had been removed. This could work to her advantage, for it meant she could move around without making any noises that alerted her captors that she was awake. Her clothes were dirty from lying on the floor, which made her feel indignant. Even if she came from a hard-working background, her mother had always made sure that all of her children's clothes were always spotless. Dot had learned that from her, and she had even helped her when she was old enough to reach the big metal wash tub and could get her little hands in the soapy water.

Given the poor lighting in her place of captivity, all she could make out were a wooden chair with a broken leg near a corner and a filthy mattress she was thankful they had not laid her on. There also were some old tin cans scattered in the opposite corner. And yes! A window! There was a stained glass window! But she was not sure she could try and open or break it with her hands so tightly bound, and even if she tried to she probably would not fit through it.

Dot sat back down- it was hard to maintain her balance with only two out of four limbs unrestrained. She closed her eyes and muttered another silent prayer, tears gathering in her eyes and threatening to fall this time. But she did not let them. Her God and her friends would want her to be strong, and strong she would be. Nothing good would come out of moping around. It was not what Miss Fisher did when she found herself in this kind of situation (which, as it turned out, was awfully often.)

With her eyes closed and her knees drawn up to her chest, Dot tried her hardest to remember the circumstances that had led to her current state. Upon waking, memories had been blurry and the initial shock had made them more so. But now, she was consciously making the effort to evoke her last moments before she was kidnapped.

She had been at home, she knew that. They had attended the magic show earlier that night. Then she had received a message… that horrible letter from her sister! Or at least it had been a letter written by her sister. She would have recognized Nell’s messy handwriting anywhere. Nell had never been neat like her, dotting all the _i'_ s and crossing all the _t_ 's, always making sure to write steadily and on the lines. Nell had never cared much about that. Dot remembered her sister's handwriting had been even messier this time. She must have been under duress when they put a pen in her hand and made her write those lines.

 

_Dear Dot,_

_Come to the foreshore alone if you wish to see me alive again._

_If you do not come at once and by midnight then they will deliver me to you piece by piece._

_Your sister,_

_Nell_

 

She remembered the fear. Nell and her were not close, but at the end of the day, Nell was her sister, and Dot loved her. Miss Phryne was right, sisters were precious, and she should know more than anyone. After discovering the shorn lock of her sister’s hair, telling anyone about the note never crossed her mind. All she knew at that point was that she had to get to the foreshore before any further harm could come to her sister. Now, she realised that she should have at least left a note with Mr Butler for Miss Phryne, for Hugh...for anyone to learn more about her whereabouts. She would have still gone alone to meet whomever had sent her that first message, made sure that she followed every instruction to the letter, but at least she would have left a trace behind instead of simply disappearing like a magic act…

Dot closed her eyes once more and tried to focus on remembering more about everything that had happened to her up until now. She vaguely recalled other details… A dark place, the smell of petrol and the sound of an engine (the boot of a motorcar, maybe?). She remembered feeling crammed and nauseous whilst being jarred about by the speed of the motor vehicle. Some rough fabric tightly wrapped around her head to cover her eyes. That’s right, they had blindfolded her! Perhaps with that old rag someone had thrown under the wooden chair in the corner. They must have taken it off her at some point, she thought, since she had not been blindfolded when she woke up.

She tried to think back to the moments before being abducted…yes, she had seen two silhouettes talking in front of a motorcar. It made sense with her theory that she had been locked in the boot of one to be taken to wherever she was now. She had heard some of what they’d been saying, too, as she cautiously approached them. One of the voices had belonged to a man, and he had been telling the other person about some place. Yes! An abandoned chapel on the outskirts of town near the waters! And then, he had made a joke, something about it being fit for someone who was in danger of becoming corrupt like her employer…

They had been talking about her, and Miss Fisher. Oh, her dear Miss Phryne! How she wished she had somehow left a trace, something that could show the lady detective where to begin looking for her. Because if there was something Dorothy Williams was certain of at that moment, aside from her ardent faith, it was that Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson were looking for her. And her beloved Hugh! Oh, her darling Hugh, he had to be frantic, too!

She put her head between her knees and shut her eyes tightly. She had to remain calm, try and remember as much as she could to make sense of her current situation and the reasons behind it, or else she’d panic, and that would be of use to no one.  

The next thing she remembered after she heard them talking about someone that Dot knew, without a hint of a doubt now, was Miss Fisher, was that they had grabbed her from behind all of a sudden. Someone had been waiting there for her, in the shadows, ready to attack the moment she attempted to reach the two men waiting by the car. They had put something over her head, she remembered that too, and then they had knocked her out. That had been before locking her in the boot of a motorcar whilst blindfolded and with her hands tied in front of her.

It had only happened the night before. No, the night before last. Either way, it seemed an eternity had passed since she’d left Wardlow with the note from her sister tightly clutched in her hand. Where was the note now? Had she dropped it accidentally when they surprised and attacked her from behind? Would someone find it there and make a connection? The note was, after all, addressed to her and clearly from her sister. Would that help them trace her whereabouts?

The clothes she was wearing were itchy. They weren’t hers. Dot remembered now, how they had told her to change. She had not been unconscious when they first locked her in a filthy, little room that first night. She remembered the nausea, and her pounding headache where they had hit her. Her vision had been blurred and someone had been holding her by the arms, albeit roughly, to help her stand. They had removed the blindfold then, she believed, and then they had loosened and cut the rope with which they’d first binded her hands. A voice (had it been male? Female? She wasn’t sure) had instructed her to change ‘to be readied to be shipped out’. And then they had handed her the itchy clothes she was wearing now. She had stood there, trembling and nauseous and disoriented, holding the clothes to her chest and without the slightest idea what to do. How she had not passed out right then and there, that was a mystery. And then the voice (and to her enormous relief she remembered now that it had belonged to a woman) had called her something horrible, and tossed her around like a ragdoll and helped her to change herself. She did not remember much about the person, for in her state all her eyes had made out was a moving, amorphous shape. She had not noticed it before in the dim lit room, but the clothes they’d taken off her had been tossed in a corner, and they laid there, a heap of fabric.

She had looked down at herself to better inspect what she was wearing. And instantly recalled that she had seen these clothes before. But where? Dot had closed her eyes again and tried to concentrate. She had ignored how tired she felt, and how much her head was starting to hurt again. She ignored the desire to just lay down on the floor, let the Lord take care of everything while she prayed until sleep claimed her. But she could not do that. Miss Fisher would not do that. She had a lead: she knew she had seen the clothes before. She had to chase it, try and remember where and when, and on who.

Dot could not give up now. No. Her Hugh wouldn’t want her to. Miss Fisher wouldn’t want her to. That strong and remarkable woman, always a force to be reckoned with, so sure of herself, ready to face all kind of criminals to make sure that others were safe and that people got what they deserved, whether that was punishment or justice. Miss Fisher had stared danger in the eye several times and she had never given up. She wasn’t about to do the same.

She had taken a deep breath and bent over at the waist to pull the ugly dress over her head and ignoring the chill pervading her skin, she had quickly examined the fabric, and, most importantly, the seams looking for a seamstress’ mark, anything. It was a simply made garment and not too much time later, she had been rewarded for her quick thinking even as she trembled slightly, now more from her newfound assumption of where she was than just the cold. Fingering the material of the other clothing, she remembered rushing over to the pile of her own discarded clothing for her sewing kit and set to work. Whatever these people were intending to do with her, or with Nell, Dot would ensure that Hugh, Miss Phryne and the Inspector would be able to find out why.

Hope slowly seeped into her pores just as the light of dawn was still able to illuminate the colourful panes of the dirty stained-glass window overhead illuminating the kind depiction of the Good Shepherd. Taking it as a personal sign, Dot continued to explore her surroundings looking for anything that would help her find her way back home.

 

*-*-*

 

Phryne barely registered Bert’s loud curse or the mixture of anger and fear that flashed through Cec’s normally genial features. She did focus on the warmth radiating from Jack’s hand after he had given hers a reassuring squeeze before moving it to shoulder as he moved closer until he was right beside her. His expression was grim as he bent over to peer inside the trunk without touching anything. He glanced towards Phryne who was clutching Dot’s dress, and was opening his mouth to comment when Mr Butler materialised next to them holding out a pair of Miss Fisher’s gloves.

“Of course, thank you, Mr Butler,” Phryne rallied as she accepted the proffered accessories and carefully pulled them on.

“Where did you locate this evidence, Albert? Cecil?” The inspector’s voice matched the graveness of his eyes as he turned towards the cabbie expectantly, his fingers gripping Phryne’s shoulder more tightly as he felt her tense in anticipation of their response.

“It were down an alley behind another abandoned brick factory, Inspector,” Cec informed them. “Also in Brunswick.”

“Yeah, we went back and searched the other one after...Miss Fisher got hurt,” Bert begrudgingly added with an emphasised glare towards Jack, which the inspector knew better than to pay heed at the moment. “Found this one not too far away.”

Cec nodded emphatically. “Word out there is that this hasn’t been the first one? You heard anything about that, Inspector?”

As though on cue, Jack felt all eyes in the room riveted on him as he straightened out and stood to his feet slowly, slipping his hands inside his trouser pockets. Phryne’s curiosity and instincts immediately vaulted even as she continued searching through the trunk’s contents.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there has been a smattering of odd cases reported throughout the city where people have been discovering trunks, boxes and the like filled with mysterious clothing,” Jack mused out loud. “I think a few other stations have noted them, but apart from any other information to link them to, no one has really paid much further attention.”

“Surely there must be some connection amongst them somehow?” Phryne paused in her searching to consider these new facts.

Suddenly, Jack swore and raked a hand through his still slightly unruly hair. Even Mr Butler hadn’t been able to magic up some strong enough pomade for their unexpected visitor’s locks that morning.

“I knew I should have paid closer attention,” he mumbled more to himself.

“Jack?”

“There was a missing person report that came through a few weeks ago to City South, but I haven’t had the opportunity to look into it more. A mother reported that her oldest daughter, late twenties, unmarried, had never returned home after a shopping trip. But, after speaking to her further, her son was convinced that his sister had simply run off with a forbidden suitor.”

“Hmmm….” Miss Fisher’s tone instantly relayed her immense doubt in the brother’s claims.

“I’ll go telephone Collins immediately,” Jack declared as he pivoted in the direction of the parlour’s doors just as Phryne cried out, arresting him in his first step.

“Eureka!”

She then held out her prize for everyone to see: a laundry mark that had been skillfully sewn beneath the front collar of Dot’s blouse. No one who wasn’t looking for it would have noticed it. Phryne’s glee quickly crumpled as her face went pale and she once again reached out for Jack who quickly gripped her hand.

“No...it can’t be!” Phryne’s face showed an emotion that rarely found its way to her countenance: that of stark fear.

It admittedly took Jack a few seconds to identify the neatly stitched clothing tag that he had hoped to never see again. The one that belonged to the Magdalene Laundry from the Convent of the Sisters of the Holy Miracle. The one that had led them to take down the evil human trafficking ring that Sydney Fletcher had been part of and that George Sanderson had allowed to happen. The one that had already cost too many precious lives.

“Evidently, there are still some lingering loose ends with regards to that horrible laundry that need some snipping,” Phryne’s fear had rapidly boiled into a deadly rage at the thought of anyone from that evil slave ring laying even a fingernail on Dot.

Jack nodded before adding, “I wonder if the new ringleaders are taking their new victims’ clothing to dissuade anyone from searching for them?”

“Could it make someone think they’d been killed?” Cec wondered out loud.

“Would you like us to go back to the laundry and take a look, miss?” Bert asked.

“Good idea,” Phryne titled her head in thought. “But, be discreet, and see if you can find out anything more about these trunks and other related, strange activity.” The two men nodded their agreement at once.

“I’ll head to the station to update Collins now,” Jack stated as the red raggers bid them both goodbye and rushed away. “I’ll have him pull everything about every mysterious trunk with clothing that has been reported. Unless...you would rather I telephone him instead?”

He turned and walked the few short steps back towards her to gauge her response. She looked up into his eyes that were telling her so much more than his seemingly straightforward question held. Hidden behind the obvious concern that had sprung up since the cabbies had arrived with the trunk was something else that he rarely allowed to emerge so visibly.

His devotion. His loyalty.

If she’d rather he telephoned the station instead of going there in person, so he could stay there with her, he’d do it. He knew she would never ask for it out straight. It was not in her nature. It was ironic, really, the fact that a woman so used to getting whatever she wanted when she wanted it with just a bat of her eyelashes or a smile or a word, did not ask directly for someone in her time of need.

So he was offering it himself, letting her take it, willing her to take it. His comfort, and his hand to hold, and his reassurance. His friendship and his wit, however useful, to go through this hard time.

His love. He was offering his love.

And she saw that. She saw it in his eyes, the way they shone. And she heard it in his voice when he said that he could telephone Hugh instead of driving all the way to the station. She saw what he had to offer, more clearly right then than ever perhaps. In his calloused, tired, warm hands he was holding up his heart to her. She acknowledge now that he had been doing that for a long time, ever since that footie match where they had sat together, when he’d taken off his beautiful, long woolen scarf and tied it around her neck. It was a moment she cherished in her own heart, and the item he had given to her as a present after the game was one she held dear and loved more than any piece of clothing, any bottle of perfume or piece of jewelry she’d ever been given or bought for herself. She wondered now if the scarf had not been, back then, the first sign that the heart that beat in his chest was his to offer to her, and hers to take.

The truth was that she wanted him to stay. She’d rather he telephoned the station to give instructions and lead the investigation from Wardlow, the receiver cradled between his shoulder and ear while she sat by his side and ran a hand through his hair. Phryne would never admit to this out loud - it was such a domestic image it was almost sickening. It was not who she was or wanted to be, it didn’t go with her person at all. And yet, she had to admit somewhat to herself know that perhaps, she did want that. Needed that. The comfort and the loyalty and the calmness only Jack Robinson had been able to provide with his strong presence.

She was about to give in, and indulge, and say yes. But, it was not good for the case that he stayed behind, the officers working at City South while Jack directed them from the St. Kilda home simply because she needed to hold onto him during such a terrible ordeal. It would not do any good to Dot, and the most important thing was to find her and get her back safe and sound.

“I think you should head to City South, Jack,” she said, and immediately saw something flicker in his eyes.

Pain.

Disappointment.

He felt rejected.

There he was, offering her everything, whatever she needed to feel better and make it safe. The other shore in the midst of a storm, and she was horrified that he thought she was turning him down in a way that hinted- erroneously, of course - that she did not need him. When, in fact, she was terrified of admitting to needing him more than she ever did anything or anyone else in all of her life.

“Dot needs you there,” she explained, and then added as an afterthought: “Hugh needs you there.” And then, finally: “I need you...there if we are going to get her back.”

There, she said it. She admitted to needing him. It was for a case, yes, and for Dot mainly, but she was openly saying that she needed someone. That she needed _him._  She hoped against hope that he would understand what she was implying.

An indeterminable silence echoed between them, and she found herself holding her breathe. But, it wasn’t until his his eyes lit up that her heart began to speed up erratically, and she didn’t even care. He understood just as only he could, in a way no one else ever did, or ever would.

“Will you accompany me then, Miss Fisher?” he asked. “I’ll most likely need my partner. Pending Dr MacMillan’s verdict on your well-being, of course.”

And there it was, his confession. His admission. He needed her, too. She knew, had known for quite some time now, and so had he.

But the words had never been said like this, with their eyes locked and their hearts beating so loud they could almost hear them. All the bad blood between them - the woman he had been seen with, and that Phryne had seen with her very own eyes later, all the misunderstandings before he learned the surprise visitor they had at Wardlow was her father and not some mysterious gentleman caller - none of that mattered in that moment. For although they didn’t speak of it, for once, they were able to acknowledge that the indescribable force between them, the one that only became amplified tenfold whenever they were together had washed away all that.

The way she had felt earlier when they had been standing in front of that trunk, without a clue of what awaited them inside, was proof that they shared a bond that went beyond… well, everything. She had felt secure, protected, somewhat calm even, in the face of what could have easily been another shocking discovery of the remains of someone she loved deeply. If Dot’s body (and she shivered just thinking about it) had been inside that trunk, it would have been like finding Janey’s bones all over again. But in that distress, that horrible fear, she had a lifeline again. The same one that she had always reached for literally and figuratively, the hand that was always ready to offer her quiet, grounding strength, reassurance, and understanding. She knew that being in a partnership meant this went both ways.

“Give me a moment or so to get ready?”

“Take your time. I’ll go telephone Collins to let him know to expect us shortly, and get him started on pulling those reports. Then, we’ll need to take this new evidence with us.”

“Excellent, Inspector. I’ll go inform Mr B that we’ll be needing an extra large lunch basket today.”

He gave her a half-smile, one she was especially partial to, before leaning over with his hand outstretched to help her to her feet. She rose gracefully where the again paused momentarily still clutching the other’s hand between them as their eyes collided. Eventually, reluctantly, Phryne let go and reached up to straighten his tie. Then, together, they left the parlour completely in sync doing what they did best side by side.


End file.
